#temple-of-health-radio

[hastyprovocateur]

Coaches Don't Play

(Coach! Abby x Soccer mom! Reader)

Summary- reader is a single mom determined to keep her act right for the sake of her son, but when his new, crushingly gorgeous coach enters the frame, she might have to ask herself some hard questions.

Word count- 12k

Cw- fluff, sexual content (ripping clothes, tribbing), mature themes (guilt, separation, divorce, single-parent struggles, mentions of domestic violence, sexual harassment, puritanism, homophobia, all-boys Christian school)

Reader desc- reader is a mom and has a name+surname, named son/ is not heavy on physical description)

Pickup at Noon

“The person you're calling is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone." Still radio silence on the coach’s end. You clicked your phone shut, tossing it into your lap as you white-knuckled the steering wheel. The light took an eternity to turn green. The school office line was already busy. A school zone sign stuck out like an accusatory finger as you drove out finally. The minimal outline of the mother and child, hand-in-hand, appeared to mock you; what with your relationship with your only son on the rocks.

How did I forget… how did I forget… you chanted under your breath as a by-passer yelled at you for cutting him before. It was elevator music at this point. Whether it’ll compound with the verbal lashing at the office from Bill, your boss, making after-school pickup an n circle of hell, you’d find out at night. When the day crushed your temples; threatened to split your skull open like a clam. It was all this, going on grave-ward.

You pulled into the school parking in your messy Civic. The passenger seat sat piled with manilas, cigarette boxes, and empty coffee to-go’s. A wrapped sub sandwich remained half-eaten from a couple mornings back. Running breakfast situation. You shoved whatever you could in the glove box, throwing the rest in the back before grabbing your handbag. Your panty hose shifted as you got out the car. Itchy seam on soft skin.

Throwing a frustrated glance around the parking lot, you adjusted yourself, lint-picking your pencil skirt for insurance. Tilting the cracked side-view mirror up, you wiped the lipstick overlining the bow of your lip, scraped the smudge of mascara below an eye, smoothed a loose lock down the side of your face.

Zion City had a spare handful of private elementary schools offering football, your son’s sport of choice. His father’s, more like. Things used to be different. There was a 5-year plan. House with a picket fence. In sickness and health. Us and ours. A silver lining.

Now you looked at pieces of it on the floor, asking if there was anything at all. Yes, he was protective… he loved you. He wanted all of you. And he did until there was very little of you left. It started with slamming doors, screaming at night. A slap. It can’t be true. You’d pray like a stuck record, beg to wake up with your eyes open. But you didn’t until one morning as you faced a mirror. Gash in cheek. Staring down blood in the sink.

The preppy, Saints-associated, all-boys private school was very much for European wonder. Pointed arches, ribbed vault ceilings, and glass stained windows supplying the hefty tuition fee. Fielding the entire cost of your son’s education tempted you every day to transfer him. You wanted to pick up the shambles, cut losses, and move across state. But your heart couldn’t bear to crush him with more changes than you’d already dealt him.

He needed his friends, the old house, neighbors they’d grown with. The skewed swing you put together one day in the spring. Besides… the school fields were immaculate in all their green splendor. You had to admit as you ran across the side of the building, down to the back. Heels clicking on concrete, you arrived a perfect mess at the stairs leading into the third block. “I’m so sorry I got late… I had this work… thing” words go amiss from your tongue as you see your son sitting with a blonde stranger, watching her flip a quarter.

He laughed, the dimples sinking into his chubby cheeks after Lord knew how long. She had him enthralled, her tall frame lay sprawled back on the stairs, elbows propping her up as she smoothly danced the coin over her fingers, hiding it in her palm. Her conversation came easy, long ponytail punctuating her animated facial expressions. You shifted on your heels, legs squirming ever so slightly.

“Dylan, honey…” you called out, hand outstretched, waving to get his attention. She noticed you first, beaming brightly at you in the late noon sun, straightening up with respectful poise. Pocketing the quarter. You noticed her broad shoulders, filling out her inky jacket all too well. “Think your mom’s here, bud” she slapped her thighs veiled in sweatpants, yellow whistle jostling in the middle of her chest. His face fell at the mention of you, betraying your already broken heart, but you concealed it.

“Hey, churro pop!” You tried to greet him, but he acted like you hadn't, numbly getting to his feet, putting his backpack on. All traces of joy from seconds ago were now dissolved. The young woman gauged the switch in energy, eyes flitting between mother and son. “I’m Anderson… the new Coach” she interjected, cordially extending a hand. It dwarfed yours, calloused fingers shrouding your hand before giving it a firm shake.

It made your dainty gold wristwatch tinkle from the motion. You stared up at her blue eyes, the spattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, high cheekbones. Youth spelled evident on her plump, pink lips. You felt a hitch in your throat as you ran a conscious hand up your blouse, closing the topmost button you’d carelessly left open all day. Your brain wracked.

“Oh” it clicked “That’s why Coach Carlson wasn’t... picking up… I tried to get through” You ran out of breath immediately. Strain hid below your tongue, sat like weight on your chest. Deflating you. You lowered your eyes, letting your exhaustion have its moment. “Yeah, it’s been a couple weeks” the young coach informed you, idly punching her open palm with the other fist “He moved to St George. To his daughter's”

Dylan bristled before you even spoke. “Baby, you never told me” You brought it up gently, except it landed like an axe. Maybe he did? You thought as his eyes deadened; face overcast with a shadow. He shook his head, storming towards the car, leaving you stranded with the new coach. You watched his little figure turn the corner and remember the skip in his step when he first started school. Head bobbing and his backpack swinging behind him.

The accusatory fingers returned. They weren’t in your face, but they filled your skull, fighting out your chest.

“He’s… mad at me” you muttered

“He’s just 9”

You gravely turned to the young woman “I missed his game.” “No, you didn’t” she shook her head, assuring sincerely “It was just practice round. Interschool got postponed by 2 weeks.” That simmered a quickly flooding guilt inside you, defusing something about to blow up. You exhaled in relief, spluttering as you wrung your hands “I promise I-I never miss his big matches. Rarely weekend practice. I do reach school on time. Just when, sometimes I rush in from work. I always leave a message for Carlson, then call Dylan from the office to make sure he’s-”

“Hey” Anderson’s eyes softened as she touched your arm, dragging the back of her knuckles down to your elbow “It’s okay” she assured you. Your shoulders dropped at the physical contact, melting the pent-up tension stiffening them like resin. You glanced at her hand and back up at her, brows scrunching above your doe eyes. A sudden proximity, forlorn depths in your gaze. Anderson dropped her hand upon realising, pocketing it as you rubbed your arms consciously. “I don’t mind staying back for a bit… Mrs Hendricks” her voice trickled slow. Deep.

“Angela” you managed a small smile, adjusting the handle on your purse as you shift your weight on one heel, part of your conscious focused on your son. “I’m…” “Divorced?” the new coach affirmed, seemingly aware of the family dynamics. “Separated. In the process of… divorce” you gave a brusque nod, pause weighing the air. With pretenses aside, you brought up your biggest concern “Is he okay?”. The coach drew a long breath, calm despite the choppy domestic matter she faced “Dylan’s our star goalie. A straight A student” she shrugged, smiling to comfort “He’s just struggling the way any child would.” “It’s… not just that” your whisper carried dead weight, grief.

“Mrs-” Anderson raised a finger to her lips to correct herself “Angela, I might be too young to understand marriage and children but I do see that you’re a great mom. I’m sure you’re trying your best.” You pursed your lip, lest you burst out into tears. Her voice touched a part too deep and wounded. You managed a grateful nod, pressing the back of your hand to your throat to push the lump down “I should… get back” you turned to leave, ankles struggling to hold up in your heels.

“Hey” she called after you, jogging to catch up and placing an innocuous hand on your back, causing a shift so mild, you barely felt it. “Why don’t you save my number?” she suggested, a touch of pink in her cheeks “I can keep you posted about important dates. For pickup or if you’d like to talk about Dylan.” “Oh” you blinked nervously, fumbling for your phone “sure’ you handed it out, flipping it open for her.

Anderson pored over the screen with focus as she fed her number in, handing it back “Put that in as Abigail. No! Just Abby.” “Abby” you echoed as you save the contact, hanging back ever so slightly to let your arm touch graze against hers. It felt like you were milking the moment, having felt nothing all this while only to come to feel something so strong. “Also” the coach bowed her head close, passing on a secret “I could be wrong but I think I accidentally unhooked your bra just now.” You swiftly averted your eyes, feeling up your back and realizing that the ends had indeed, come apart, leaving your breasts unsupported.

“Fuck” you cursed softly. Though Abby bit her lip apologetically, she barely masked the satisfaction. “I’ll… fix it later” you felt blood rush to your face, beating a hasty retreat. “Take care, Angie!” Abby called after you. A hand in pocket, other throwing the whistle around her neck triumphantly.

Later that evening

You double-checked the latch on your bedroom door, standing before your vanity mirror in your lace gown. It had been ages since it meant anything at all. To adorn yourself in the sheer silk and be slowly unraveled. It had been ages since you’d been touched tenderly, explored, and laid open like pages of a book, fingers running along every line. All that remained was a wretched mass left behind from a loveless marriage. You gulped as you pushed the strap down to expose your breasts.

They’d lost their former perkiness, sitting heavy and low. Milky blue veins and pale stretch marks ran around them like cracks of thunder. You cupped them gently, trying to remember what it felt like with your eyes closed. In sudden colorful musing, you imagined them being replaced by the young coach’s rough, warm hands. Running up your ribs and cupping you. The size of them perfect for her large palms. Tracing them gently as your nipples edged into her touch.

The stairs creaked as Dylan headed down to the kitchen, and you snapped out of it. You pressed the heel of your hand to your reddened face, and the mirror reflected your shame as you threw a robe over the gown, securing the cord tight.

Dinner across the four-seater was gravely somber. You served yourself a scarce portion of the pasta salad after doling heaps for Dylan, watching him spoon some into his mouth before moving to have some yourself. “Good?” you asked softly as he dug in with more spoonfuls, and he shrugged “It’s how it always is.” You fought the immediate woe upon seeing his disinterest. It was a losing battle. “Must be always good, then” you laughed a hollow laugh. Only for him to exhale, followed by an equally nonchalant “whatever.”

Painstaking silence ensued, and you struggled to push each morsel down your throat. A sip of water lubricated your words. “Your new coach is quite cute” you remarked after doing the mental gymnastics to bring up something he liked. “Yeah… she’s cool” Dylan responded after a while. “She said your interschool is in a couple weeks” you scratched the cheap synthetic tablecloth “Are you nervous?”.

“Don’t act like you know soccer” he snapped. Your jaw dropped with a sharp exhale, and you tried to cover it with a nervous laugh “What?” you grazed your chest “I… know soccer. I take you to all your games, we practiced when you were a baby, I was cheering on you when you won last season!”. He turned sour “Not like dad used to do” “Well, he’s not here now, is he!” you snapped back, regretting the moment it left your lips.

He stared at you, steeling his gaze as his soul turned away from you. He quietly got up, abandoning the half-eaten plate of food before leaving the room. “Dylan!” you call after him “Honey! I didn’t-”. It didn’t seem to matter. You couldn’t bring his father back for him, and he’d never let you forget that that he left. You could move wherever and so would the sinkhole he left in the house. One no amount of love can fill. You bit your tongue to distract yourself from the welling tears in your eyes, pushing your plate away.

Bedtime

Before bed, you checked your phone. It was chalked with the usual messages. Work, network service company info, local businesses, and scammers trying their luck. You’d long stopped receiving follow-up messages from fellow moms. Friends had faded in the process of tearing apart from your husband. He’d been the life of the party, rousing gatherings and infusing them with slapstick jokes. Always the funny guy. Which made you the shadowy outcast, the bad cop, the one to blame when things went awry.

Hence, why Abby’s message made your chest stiffen slightly. Butterflies tickled your ribs as you looked it over and over. She’d just sent herself a “<3” from your phone, perhaps making sure she saved your number as well. It doesn’t mean anything; you told yourself. As you moved to shut your phone, it burst into the sparkly digital ringtone you’d set ages ago. “Abby” it read on the caller id.

You clicked accept in a daze, realizing with the static-y blare of air on the other end that she was genuinely talking to you. “Hey, Angie!” her voice hit better than bourbon, running down your spine. “Good evening, coach…” you reply in wisps of words, breath irregular “Sorry… Abby”

“Is now a bad time? I know it’s late…”

“No, it’s alright”

“Cool” she bought a deep pause, seeming unsure of what to say next “… I just wanted to ask if… you and Dylan are doing okay.” You bit your lip, well-versed with standard answers “Yeah! He ate his dinner. Took care of his laundry. He’s doing his homework before bed” you counted off your imaginary fingers, hoping it was convincing enough.

“And you?” Abby furthered, taking you by surprise.

“Me?”

“What about you? How’re you?”

“I’m…” you fiddled with the hem of your nightie, fingering a hole in the lace “okay.” “Angie” Abby uttered, the faint sound of a TV in the back, match commentary in progression. You heard her suck air into her lungs for courage “You can talk to me, you know.” You pressed your thighs close, the tenor in her voice more penetrative to the senses than anything. It was scary how eager she had you over a phone call, fighting thoughts of how you’d be if she was close.

“There’s nothing to say. I really am… okay” you assured her despite the ever-present urge to unburden your whole heart “I’m sorry if I had you worry” you laughed for effect.

Abby chuckled in reply, clicking her tongue. Tough crowd, you heard her mutter under her breath. She cleared her throat “Can I see you in my office? Tomorrow?” she asked. You pressed a hand to your warm forehead, feeling yourself flush “Y-yeah… I suppose I can” you stammered nervously, to which Abby promised “Don’t worry, I just want to help.”

Next Day at the school office

You consciously bounced a knee in your cold chair, watching a handful of parents milling around the main office. You wondered what they’d been called in for. Failing calc? Smoking on campus? Jerking off into the teacher’s pigeonhole? You knew for a fact that some of them deserved it. The leather strap of your shoe dug in your ankle, compelling you to adjust the little gold buckle. A pair of white sneakers came to a halt near you, familiar ones. You peered up at the new coach. She smiled down at you, holding a hand out for you to hold. Her eyes inconspicuously flit towards your cleavage, and you blushed, sliding a hand up your chest. “Need help with that?” she asked softly, kneeling by your undone heel strap.

“No… it’s okay” you discouraged her but she gently moved your hand aside, feeding the leather into the buckle and securing it. “I’m quite handy with silly kid’s shoes, I’ll have you know” she tilted her head; hand wrapped around the underside of your shoe. “Women’s heels too?” you chuckled, shrouding the shiver from the way her hand grazed your ankle, how she knelt before you. Abby shrugged, smiling “New notch on my belt.” You headed through to the sports department. The trainer’s office was located on the opposite side of the building facing the field. “Like they didn’t know where it was going to be” Abby joked as she held the office door open for you, the metal plate outside still reading “Carlson.”

You looked at the partly disordered space, a fresh box of trophies and certificates in one, everything smelt like rubber. There stood a photo frame boasting of a grainy photo of a little girl with a braid, hoisted on the shoulders of a man. Dad and daughter. “They don’t pay me much, if you’re wondering” Abby joked, and you turned to her, smiling “They make me pay a lot.” “Well, thanks to you… I don’t have to share” she boasted, shaking her head.

The photograph lingered at your periphery, but you let the questions go for the meantime. “Thank you for meeting with me…” you said, a tone more serious, as she pulled a chair away from her desk for you, watching you settle down in it. “Me?” Abby frowned, leaning back against the side of the table, not too far from you “I should be thanking you. I know your work can be hard to get away from”

“It’s okay. I do need to get more involved. I barely attend PTA meetings” You confessed, eliciting a concerned nod of acknowledgment from Abby, “Those… are quite the spectacle”

“Parents can be passionate” you shrugged

“There was a petition to make the campus segway friendly”

“I… wasn’t part of that” you stifled a laugh

“Lucky you” Abby crossed her arms, her slight movements drawing your eye to her zipper glinting halfway down her chest, urging you to drag it all the way down. See what’s hiding beneath. You shook your head, placing your palms face down on your lap “Hey… I… really hope Dylan isn’t misbehaving or giving you a hard time”

Keeping it to the point there, Angie.

“Not at all!” coach denied swiftly, making you wonder what the issue was “He’s giving his all to practice and school. Which is why I was concerned… he seems stressed.”

“Oh…” your gaze fell to your lap as Abby craned her neck low, inquisitive. “Has he said something at home? Anything about the upcoming competition?”.

You fiddled with the hem of your skirt, stretching the pause out till it hurt your chest “Soccer season was always w-when… his dad would be home the most. At all his matches. They’d go on little hikes, drives, eat at his favorite diner, he’d buy him anything he asked for” you stretched your lips in a twisted smile “The house would be full.” Abby knit her brows, inching close to gently touch your shoulder as you fought the urge to start bawling. “He just misses his dad” her warm fingers slid down your back, almost breaking the dam holding it all back “a-and I don’t know what to do.”

Abby wordlessly pulled you against her front, your hands shakily wrapping around her waist as you steadied your breath. A tear still squeezed through, quickly bleeding into her jacket. “It’s okay” Abby rubbed your back, lightly combing your hair “You weren’t supposed to be doing it alone. It's not fair.”

You clutched your fingers deeper into her back, cinching at her shape through the loose athletic wear. Her fingers tickled the back of your neck, compelling you to pull away, peering up at her face. With your sweet lips rosied and wide eyes misty. Abby’s breath visibly hitched, chest falling still as she brought her hand towards your face, resting a thumb on your cheek, brushing your bottom lip. “No” you uttered breathlessly, curling into the chair.

Abby flew back into her desk, fingers digging into the wooden edge, visibly shaken as she drew jagged breaths. You covered your face in shame, breath hot against your palms “I’m so sorry.” “No, please” Abby brushed the air “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” “I’m sorry I…” you compose yourself, chin pinned to your shoulder “I can’t. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression and I don’t know why I just did that-”

“Hey, hey” Abby gathered your shaking hands as your guts twisted into knots “Hey… Nothing happened…” she asserted; blue eyes wide with her words firm “Nothing happened.”

You screwed your eyes close as you felt her hands shield yours, the weight of the emotion crushing your senses. “Yeah…” you collected yourself “you’re right” you consciously slip your hands out of her grip, clutching the arms of your chair “Nothing happened.”

Abby stared at the ground, idly punching her palm and letting the clock ticking on the wall swallow the whole incident. You strengthened your resolve, nodding “I’ll try and make things right with Dylan… I was planning on attending his weekend practice, anyway” you shrugged “I can fit in some stuff.”

“Sounds good” Abby remarked “don’t worry too much. I’ll do what I can from my side” she added. You raised your wrist to glance at the dial on your wristwatch. The metallic tinkle drew the young coach’s attention “Yeah… I need to head out to the field for PE class as well.”

You rose out of the chair, shuffling towards the door and reaching for the door knob, trying to maneuver it open. Abby came up behind, putting her hand over yours around the knob and holding it. Her breath ran warm down your neck. “By the way” a baited second passed “Coach Carlson didn’t move to his daughter’s.”

“What?” you whispered, clutching your purse as you turned to look at her. Abby licked her bottom lip, chuckle scratchy “They caught him with the guy who tends to the fields” she leaned closer “Utility closet down the corridor. Kicked him out the same day. Hired me three days later. Grateful as I was… I wonder” Abby steeled her eyes, hesitant yet bold as she grazed your wrist “If he regretted it…”

Morning of weekend practice

The car door shielded you from glances of the general passerby, soccer moms mostly. Also, from the cigarette between your fingers, cherry glowing bright as you sucked the smoke deep into your chest. The back of your throat tasted like cinnamon. You dug your fingers into your neck, lightly swinging as you sat on your haunches, delicately balanced on your high heels.

You’d battled for that half-day, leaving the temp in blaze amid ignored voice messages. You were determined to stay through weekend practice. An early drive home would be nice so you could spend some time together. Make a stop at the diner Dylan liked, ward off the bad luck with greasy food.

The inseam of your panty hose began irritating your skin again. “Cheap… fucking… shit” you forced a hand up your skirt, trying to relieve the itch.

“Hey, Angie” you heard from the sky above and nearly toppled to the side, throwing your elbow up to defend yourself from the unknown. “Coach!” you looked up to find Abby standing behind the door with her crossed arms propped on the window, smirking down at you. You quickly hid the hand holding the cigarette, moving to crush it under the point of your heel.

“No, save it…” Abby rounded the open car door, sliding down the side of the car to join you on the ground, big frame folding onto itself “Unless now’s a bad time” she whispered, holding two fingers out.

You released a chuckle, passing your cigarette to her, back of your fingers grazing hers in doing so “It’s never a bad time to sit and do nothing” you shrugged with a simple smile. “That’s the dream, isn’t it?” she watched your face keenly as she took a drag, blue smoke pouring from her lips. “I can’t imagine someone as healthy as you smoking” you mused and she raised a brow, staring at the ground “I usually don’t”

“Don’t let me ruin you”

“Too late”

You quietly plucked the cigarette from her fingers, your scarlet painted nails lightly scraping her hand. Her eyes connected with yours beyond a mere look. Deep and curious. “Why not the bleachers?” she inquired, and you bit your lip, flicking loose ash “I was hiding, I guess” you confessed.

“Me too” Abby chimed in exhaustion, casting a furtive glance back at the field. A flurry of moms monopolized the bleachers with folding tables decked out with food stuff for their beloved sons as they took a break from practice. Helicoptering and rallying what with the competition round the corner.

“You first” she shuddered in the shoulders before turning back to face you. “Let’s just say… a single mom on the verge of divorce doesn’t fare well in these shindigs.” “I can imagine” Abby raised a brow, and you nodded slowly “They’re always praying that he comes back. So my family can be whole. The way God intended."

Abby let the words linger, the bitterness in it evident, the false comfort. “Well…” she bit back a smile “I hope he falls off the edge of Earth.” That brought some warmth to your soul, eliciting a surprisingly loud laugh from your mouth "Not you being a flat-earther."

"I'm not" Abby's smile faded and you laughed harder "Flat-earther" you repeated for emphasis.

"That's not funny" Abby protested with dead eyes and you lost it. You bumped into her arm for buttress as you teeter once again, feeling the smooth ripple of her bicep beneath the sleeve of her jacket. It gave you another unwanted flash of how her bare arms would feel like as they wrap around your breasts. You squeezed your eyes shut “Why are you hiding?” you redirected your focus quickly.

“Well,” Abby reached back to smooth her ponytail “It’s a lot of pressure to begin with. The Dean is really keen on bringing the trophy this season even though I just joined and it doesn’t help that Carlson left most of the team is disorder. Plus… the moms can be…” she dragged out the silence, and you piqued with curiosity “Spit it out.”

“I know they mean well…” she fiddled with the cigarette, thumbing the ruby print left by your lipstick “But they can be really touchy.” You knit your brows with empathy “Tell me about it. I once got told off for a chicken casserole I cooked wrong. “No…” Abby blushed; legs splayed open as her knee poked into your thigh “Touchy as in… they touch me… a lot.”

You dropped your jaw, scandalized “What?”

“Yeah” she scrunched her nose in embarrassment “They call me round the clock, telling me to take their sons off the bench, asking about what to feed them, talking about troubles at home. They stand too close…” she shook her head. You widened your eyes, nail tips digging into your bottom lip. “Put their hands all over” Abby whispered, holding the cigarette out at your stunned face.

You shook yourself out of it, drawing the dregs from the dying cigarette before you finally managed a thought “That sounds like hell" you blew a raspberry "It's like they've never seen a buff woman”

“You think I’m buff?” Abby watched you fumble with words as you crushed the cigarette on the tarmac, dusting idle ash from your leather heels “I’m just stating the obvious.” Her blue eyes mellowed, scoping your evident blush. Seeking you out. For more.

“Tell me what you think” she leaned close.

“I thought you don’t like moms talking at you”

“Other moms, no”

“Well,” you shrugged lightly, scraping together your feelings “… We were raised on verses, tender mercies, and blind faith. Many bought into it. I did. I thought it would work for me the way it did for them. But now I look at how my life turned out, and then I look at you. You’re about the age I was when I got married, by yourself, doing what you like, the way you want… makes me question everything” you gathered your knees, resting your chin on top.

Abby playfully nudged her shoulders into yours, “You make me question everything too” she whispered “I used to think people who marry and have kids are insane. After my dad... I didn't want to take care of anyone for a long time. And it was good. Being free... having no one depend on me all the time. Though the empty house hurt sometimes” she gripped her bicep, considering deeply “But I see you with Dylan... and wonder what I'm missing out on”

“You’re not missing out on marriage” you tutted, biting the inside of your cheek

“Not even with the right person?” Abby tilted her face at you, curious pout catching you off-guard.

“Maybe... it's hard to believe”

“Just because something didn't work out once doesn't mean it never will.”

You blinked, switching your gaze to the vast field, breeze blowing loose curls across your cheek. You wondered for an inane second if she saw your heart leaping up in your chest. Unable to contain the spike of hope she gave you. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me” you confessed.

“What?” Abby’s voice pitched “I don’t believe that.”

“I’m being serious!”

“You're a gorgeous woman. People should be telling you sweet things all the time”

“You think I'm gorgeous?”

“You don't?”

“Dunno” you shrug “Hard to tell when everyone is mad at me.”

“Not everyone”

You gulped, feeling Abby’s unwavering support setting fire to a part of you, reviving more bits and pieces of you against your will. Hope wasn’t a good thing to have in this tandem. The breeze swept your hair again as you turned to face her with some words of discouragement, catching your eye. “Ow” you winced softly, hand fluttering up to push them back, struggling as your eye burned a little.

“Hold on” Abby loosely wound her fingers into the feisty lock. “There” she smiled, tucking them securely behind your ear. Your brows peaked in that same old dance, like you were staring at the sun but it was just your son’s painstakingly gorgeous soccer coach

“Abby” you mumbled thinly as the warmth of her fingertips made you limp, cheek burying into her palm. She ran a thumb over to smooth a stray strand, grazing the raised bump on your cheekbone.

“Fuck” she uttered softly, eyes darkening as she switched between the scar and your eyes filled with fear. She knew before you said a word. “Angie…” her nostrils flared, lips pursing to contain her tongue. “No” you reach for her hand, holding it against your cheek as if to beg “Let me forget.”

Abby inched forward, gingerly leaning in to eclipse your faces. She hesitated, waiting for you to pull back but when you didn’t, she gently kissed your cheek, soft lips lingering over your skin. Her cool, smoky breath tickled you and you flinched, pulling back to peer into her blue eyes.

“Coach!” a distressed call erupted from somewhere in the distance and Abby jerked back. It was code soccer mom. Abby shot up, dusting her sweatpants as she sauntered over to the frazzled mother looking for her, briefly turning back to smile at you. “We need another table for the hors d'oeuvre, the extra broke and the boys-” she continued to explain as Abby soothed her “Let’s find another table for the hors d'oeuvre, Debra.”

She headed back to the field as you sat hidden behind your car door, stubborn smile pasted on your lips.

Towards the end of practice

“9, forward, forward, faster!” Abby yelled, wildly gesticulating to make it more coherent to the boys “4, free yourself! Goalie, watch the forward! Remember what I showed you!” She looked sexy when riled, golden muscles beaming in the sun, flexing through her fitted dri-fit tee after her jacket came off her back and sat tied around her lean hips. She was quick on her heels, eyes flitting over every single player. Sharp, barking instructions as her ponytail bounced behind her.

The mothers seemed to collectively sigh with every aggressive instruction. You fanned yourself with an expired Target voucher, wondering if they were imagining all the stuff they never got to hear in the bedroom.

As Dylan deflected another shot with a jump split, Abby sustained her whistle, signaling the end of the match as the boys slowed down to a canter in place. They bumped into each other, chirping about their respective goals amid rowdy back slaps and cheers. Soon they began looking around for their moms. You watched Dylan dully plod from the netted goal, unstrapping his protective gloves. “That’s my big guard!” you squealed, unable to help yourself.

Abby looked back, smirking lightly as the other moms shot unpleasant looks at you. You pursed your lips nervously, hunching down in your seat so you became less visible. Dylan acknowledged you with a quick nod, his face lighting up the second he saw his coach with a fist extended towards him. He bumped her back, laughing as she ruffled his head before hoisting him on top of her shoulders. Dylan beamed as Abby brought him over on her back as the other players rushed out with them. All running to their mothers.

Dylan seemed all too comfortable on there, hands gripping Abby’s shoulders as the mothers swarmed her, voicing various concerns as each grabbed her own flesh of the womb. Abby swung her head between the crowd, trying to hear everyone out. You remain seated in your plastic chair, watching the spectacle as it unfolded. Their voices soon became one united cacophony, the boys padded at her sides while the mothers clutched at her arms, shoulders, spouting question after question about every miniscule detail about the competition. The coral and bubblegum manicures dug into her arms and you bit your lip, mind wandering to forbidden places. A pang of jealousy perhaps. Because the way you touched her would be so much more dangerous than when they did.

Half an hour passed and the young coach had found no respite, they badgered her over the devilled egg halfway into her mouth. An attack no amount of soccer training could have prepared her to defend. You hadn’t taken too deep a breath either, swilling a glass of warm lemonade as two women interrogated you about your husband’s whereabouts, puzzled how you managed the bills alone, took care of the house and tuition fees. Bet nobody was asking your ex such questions. His friends are probably badgering him to sleep around again. You told some half-truths, intercepting a stray Dylan trying to shimmy past you as you braced to slither away from the gathering. The second they turned, you chanced upon glorious getaway, only that… Abby appeared so sapped and cute, trying her best to be attentive.

“Coach Anderson!” you called out to her over the din on the bleachers. She snapped up, attentive as a canine to your voice as you beckoned her. She excused herself from the hound, jogging up to where you were standing.

“Hey” you pulled her close, watching the moms break out in urgent whispers “Don’t act like it but… I was taking Dylan to his favourite diner and I was wondering if you’d like to join.” Dylan peered up at your faces, about to emote in excitement before you clapped a hand around his mouth, feeling him argue with your fingers. “Did you turn water into wine in your last life?” Abby asked gravely, quickly slipping a hand up your back as she ushered you out of the enclosure.

“A thankyou would suffice” you chuckled at her pallid stone-face

“It most certainly would not” Abby hissed

At the diner

You felt the bile rise in your throat as you nudged at the vinegary lettuce on your plate. Abby noticed, picking some off and munching on it. Meanwhile, Dylan had ketchupped both his hands, shoving his side of bacon and hash browns into his mouth.

“You alright?” Abby asked as you lightly rubbed your temple. “Did you really have to sit in the same booth as me?” you asked under your breath as Abby lifted a brow, corner of her lip twitching “Am I too close?” she shifted in place, spread thighs nudging into your crossed legs. “Don’t play…” you warned her with a stern glance “I’m doing this for my son.” “Coaches don’t play, Angela” she stole another chunk of lettuce from your plate, chewing with a smug grin.

Dylan had been talking nonstop about new goalkeeping techniques he had perfected at practice. Obviously, he was elated at the prospect of hanging out with his favourite person, more so now that she was sitting across him. It smarted a bit to watch it not be you but you just wanted to see him happy. Even if you weren’t the reason.

“Who taught you soccer?” he piped excitedly and you turned to Abby, watching her face fall ever so slightly despite the big smile. “I had the greatest coach” she simply said “the best ever.” “Will he come see us play??” Dylan hopped excitedly in his seat and Abby chuckled “Of course, he’d love to.”

You contemplated heavily before inching your hand to the side to comfort Abby under the table with a gentle hand over her knee. She kept her composure, quickly sliding her hand over yours. The callouses on her palm felt scratchy on the back of your knuckles, dwarfing your hand. You wondered if she lifted. Of course, she did. You weren’t the avid gym goer but you could pick those who were out of a lineup.

“Mom” Dylan gestured to the bathroom and you nodded, watching him slide out of the seater and bound down the diner, leaving the two of you alone. “Was it your dad?” you asked gently and Abby frowned, nodding.

“There was… this photo… on your desk”

“Right”

“I didn’t mean to pry”

“You didn’t pry” Abby managed a small smile “It’s me… I still don’t know how to talk about him” her voice broke despite the forced steadiness. You began to draw your hand back, feeling it linger on her knee for too long and Abby snatched it back, placing it right back on her knee. You threw a cautious glance around the diner, worried if you might have undue company. Perhaps a pair of eyes from the locale. You turned to her, welcoming her into embrace.

Abby gladly fell into you, arms catching on your shirt in a hurry to wrap them around you. “It’s alright…” you cradled her head, lips pressing into her hair head as she nestled into the crook of your neck. Abby tightened her grip on you, causing you to exhale sharply as you clung to her back. Her chest rose and fell shallow, breath quickened with her eyes closed. “Abby” you warn her as she slid her hand up your spine “I need this” she begged.

“We’re in public” you whispered only for her to groan back “You suggest we do this privately?” “No!”

Her warmth began seeping through the layers of clothes between you, getting to you and making an all too comfortable home at the back of your head. It was a hard thought to unthink, an even harder act to undo. Your eyes rolled back in your skull, fingers weakly pushing her arms down from your waist. Footsteps come bounding back from the distance and you barely tore yourself apart as Dylan hopped back in his side of the sofa. You self-consciously sorted your hair mussed on one side as Abby fought the flush in her face.

“Coach, you’re still eating” he laughed as Abby rubbed her neck nervously “Yeah bud, can’t get enough of it.”

“You’ve had enough” you weakly snapped at her, pulling your wallet out “Grab your bag, Dylan… we need to drop coach off at her house before we go home.”

That evening

You lightly knocked on the door, turning your ear against it. “Yeah, mom” Dylan acknowledged back and you cracked it open to find him hunched over his study desk. Upon a closer look, you found him scribbling defense formations on his notepad, tearing them out and scribbling more.

“Honey…” you stared at the papers “Come on… bed now” you rub his shoulder. He paused, hovering his pencil inches from the paper before dropping it. Trudging over to the bed, he plopped and laid down. “Good” you smiled, pulling his comforter over him. “You happy about today?” you sat yourself at the edge of the bed, patting him gently.

“Yeah” he said simply, rather numbly “Practice went well… I’m trying to perfect my technique.” You bit your lip, choosing your words carefully “Sweetie… you know you don’t have to be perfect, right?” you adjust the collar of his night suit “The only reason we put you in soccer was… so you’d have fun.”

“Hm” he stared vacantly at the wall, you words were already out his other ear. “I liked hanging out with coach today” he said out of nowhere and you turned your head to look at him. “I’m sure she feels the same” you smiled after some moments as he looked at you, a bit crestfallen “You won’t take her out of my life too… will you?” he asked.

“W-what?” you felt gut punched “I don’t… I mean, why would I…?” your voice broke while you fought to pull yourself together with a shaky hand in the air.

Dylan frowned; lips downturned “You didn’t seem too happy to hang out with her today… like how you were with dad” he clutched the comforter tighter “I think you’ll make her go away too.”

“Baby, I…” you wanted to speak but the ache of your heart breaking overwhelmed you, your chest hurting “I would never do that” you got up, making a hasty exit while your face was still dry. I would never you repeated to yourself as you shut your bedroom door behind you.

There wasn’t much you could do beside softly sobbing into your hands, hunched over as if wanting to disappear within yourself. Your cell phone erupted, the chippy caller tune distracting you. It was the coach.

“Hey, Angie” she said as you clicked accept, labored breathing into the receiver, realizing that you were in no position to speak yet “Hey…?” she repeated and you began to speak, words getting immediately swallowed by the lump in your throat. You slowly blew through your teeth, forcing yourself to act right.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Abby inquired with more urgency and you cleared your throat, finally catching your breath “Hey” you blurted “I’m okay… Dylan’s okay.” Abby paused, not knowing what to say “Are you sure?”

“Yeah... yeah” you breathed, nodding to yourself. Self soothing. “Are you okay??” you asked, realizing that you hadn’t checked on her or asked why she called.

“Yes! It's all good” Abby responded, her voice deeper… softer. “I know I’m calling late again but I wanted to…” she hesitated, making you clutch the phone tighter “I wanted to say sorry” she finally uttered “I realized I was being really pushy and I guess… I need to manage myself.”

You massaged your temples, mind wracked as Dylan’s words linger in your mind “It’s okay…” you exhale “I don’t mind you being a part of my son’s life… I’m seeing him act like himself after a long time.”

“And you?” Abby let the question hang in the air like a guillotine as you struggled to find answers.

“I’d like if we stay friends… for my son’s sake” you enunciated each word carefully lest the truth slip out “Nothing more”

“I see” Abby processed it, her tone dulling significantly “If that’s how you want it.”

“Please don’t take it the wrong way…” you trailed, fiddling with the lace trim on your robe “I'm in no place to reject you. You’re so young and energetic… you could find anyone your age. They'd be lucky to have you!”

“You’d think it would be easy but it's not” Abby confessed quietly, the static behind her voice hanging over the silence “The girls I’ve grown up with are all puritan and now teaching P.E at a Mormon private school. I can’t risk it…”

You gulped heavily, all too familiar with the situation “I get it” you replied shakily “My ex-husband’s fighting me for custody… telling family and friends that I’m this sleazy drunk throwing myself at strange men. I can’t seem to start over hard as I try.”

More silence ensued, punctuated by Abby’s frustrated sigh “We can start over”

“Abby…”

“I want you”

“No!” you discouraged her sternly, holding back all the feelings you didn’t trust. “You’ll find a girl. Younger, wiser… braver” you said cautiously, not wanting to entangle her in your fucked up world “I just know it.”

“And you?” she asked, calling your bluff.

“I’ll… be doing what I do" you laughed bleakly “I barely have to time to think between court visits, office, pickup, weekend practice and making casserole the right way” declaring hesitantly: “I’ll be fine.”

“Just say it, Angie…” Abby urged through gritted teeth “Tell me to fuck off so I’ll actually listen” she cursed in exasperation, anger thinly masking the despondency.

“Fuck off…” you replied firmly as you heard her draw a weighted breath, like she could burst out in a flutter of honest words but instead the line went dead.

I want you too… you mumbled to the nothingness.

At office

Abby’s words from last night haunted you, like a shadowy devil on your shoulder as you sat at your work desk. With how much time you’d spend in the same spot, doing the same things, you wondered if you’d truly forgotten about moving on. Because when she brought it up… it sounded alien. Absurd.

This life was all you'd known but what would things even look like outside of this. You could imagine Abby doting on Dylan, fussing over his games, engrossing him with coin tricks. You pictured them sharing a meal at the table, laughing. Like a family. You even fantasized about pleasing her when alone, crying and writhing in her arms… trusting her… loving her.

“Shh!” the sound punctured your thoughts and you turned around to catch your colleagues gossiping. They quickly hid their faces.

Just like that, you were back.

“Hello, this is Angie from Accounting. How can I help you?” you took a call, pinning the receiver to your ear with a shoulder, fingers flying over the keyboard as you sorted the invoices. “Bill?” you craned your neck to look outside your cubicle “He’s preoccupied, I believe” you lied, watching him stuff oatmeal cookies in his face in the breakroom. “Sure, I’ll pass it on to him" you clicked the telephone back, rearranging the reports on your desk as Bill strode up, brushing crumbs off his beard.

“It’s Nessie, she said you didn’t re about their company ad sizing in classified” you explained, and he rolled his eyes “How many times have I told her…

“Just talk to her”

“No, you talk to her”

“I’m just an accountant”

“Angela… please”

“God” you grimaced, staring at the growing pile of paperwork on your desk, tabs of spreadsheets open on your computer “Fine, but just this once.” “Cool” Bill dismissed it immediately. Your cell phone rang in the middle of work, it was from the school nurse’s office.

A shot of ice ran up your back, stiffening your body “Mrs. Hendricks? mother of Dylan Hendricks of 4C?” the nurse barked down the phone. “This is her” you replied shakily. “Your son hyperventilated and lost consciousness during soccer practice. The coach has handled the situation but we’re mandated to inform you.” “What?” you sobbed into the phone as the nurse cleared her throat “Ma’am… don’t pani-” you shut your phone as you swung your purse up your shoulder, getting up to leave.

You bumped into Bill on your way out.

“Hendricks” he grabbed your arm “Where are you off to? It’s not pick up yet.”

“Dylan fainted during practice; I need to get him right now” you tried to push past him but he forced you back, blocking your way in the hall

“He just fainted. You have bigger tasks at hand here. Is this how you’re planning on working here?” he hissed.

“Bill, you’re hurting me” you tried to pull your arm back as he looked around in annoyance from any attention you might be drawing.

“You’ve exhausted your monthly leaves and I just assigned you some important work even though we all know how you…” he snarled, unable to say it.

“Mighty kind of you” you spat back “To assign me work you’re supposed to do in the first place. Maybe you'd have more time if you weren't gossiping about me in office all the time.” Unnerved, he just glared down at you as you steeled yourself.

“You’re either letting go of me right now… or I’m going to leave you a bloody mess. Unlike yours, my son needs me and I’m not letting your sorry ass get in my way” you thinned your lips in a scowl, baring teeth. That seemed to do the trick as Bill unhooked his hand from your arm.

You stepped on the pedal, weaving and rushing through familiar streets as best you could. Abby had tried your number several times since you rushed from office, leaving a message saying “Dylan’s okay. We’re at my house. Please, don’t worry.” How can I not?? you screeched around a car moving out of park as it nearly slammed into you.

Your baby boy had burned himself out, trying to do Lord knows what and you saw all the signs. You had tried getting to him but you failed each time. You're a failed wife. And now a failed mother. The accusatory screams echoed around in your head till they became one united blare, bursting at your temples. You parked up Abby’s drive-through, rushing out the car and up the front door, banging it down.

At Abby's home

Abby opened the latch, her eyes hollowed, and her ponytail loose. You pushed past her “Where is he?” you threw a glance around the staid living room, lace doily on the television and a leather sofa. Old fashioned like it was stuck in time. “Where is he??” you raised your voice in urgency. Trophies and certificates sat on special shelves, jersey’s framed on the wall in clear glass, a tin of pre-workout pile, dumbbells stood along the wall by size. MCAT prep books sat in a heavy stack on the table.

“Shh… he’s sleeping upstairs” Abby called after as you hurried up the stairs, opening the first room on the right to find him safely bundled in a baby blue blanket. His face peeked out from under it and he looked the most peaceful you’d ever seen him. You began to step inside but Abby held you back with a gentle arm around the waist “Please.”

Your face twisted with contempt, bounding back down the stairs and into the living room before turning around to face her “Why’d you bring him here?” you pointed upstairs in upset, voice terribly shaky. “Angie…” Abby tried to placate you, reaching for your outstretched arm “He couldn’t defend a goal and panicked really hard. He needed to breathe... he needed rest.”

“And you brought him here?” you pulled out of her reach to which Abby deadened her eyes “I took care of my dad till the day he died… I can trust myself to take care of him." “And me? I should trust you too?” you pitched your voice, watching her face fall. “Why are you doing this?” Abby asked, hurt and confused.

“What? Worrying about some stranger taking my son home??”

“I’m no stranger”

“Sorry, my bad. You’re basically Dylan’s dad now. I should just fall to my knees and worship you. Since you’re saving our broken fucking family! My fucking savior” you spat each word out with more vitriol than the last, eyes stinging painfully.

Abby seemed equally disturbed, slowly shaking her head as she blinked fast “Angie… I understand you’re in pain.”

“You understand my pain?” you chuckled, nearly choking from how badly your throat was trying to close “Y-you understand how my stomach hurts from all the knots? Or how much my s-son hates me? That my family wouldn’t take me back? Or how I’m not allowed at church anymore?” Abby lowered her eyes, lips pressed to hide their quiver as she let you unravel.

“Maybe you’ll understand how the other moms say I have std’s… how my colleagues hit on me saying I’m s-spoiled goods, or maybe how my in-laws tear me apart at every court visit” you practically lunged at her, grabbing the front of her t-shirt, “Do you understand that all I wanted was to be LOVED and I BROKE my bones trying to love him in hopes he’d love me back… and HE NEVER DID.” Tears squeezed out your eyes, pouring down your cheeks.

Abby enveloped you in her arms as you broke down entirely, body going limp from the relief of spitting out all the agony coiled deep inside you. Unburdened. At long last. You screwed your eyes shut painfully as you felt her tighten her grip around your waist, hand cradling the back of your head, stroking gently.

You felt her chest rise irregularly; her breath jagged from your words. The front of her t-shirt turned dark from your bleeding mascara. You relaxed your fingers over her chest, peering up at her forlorn face. “Are you mad at me?” Abby asked softly and you shook your head, tears dripping down your cheek “No… I’m scared” you sobbed and she brought her hand to your cheek, pressing a thumb to your lips.

“We’re safe… it’s just us” Abby whispered close to your forehead, the blue in her eyes growing deeper with all the love she had for you. You tensed, raising your lips to meet hers. You pecked her ever so gently. A tender apology. Abby’s hands ached from sheer restraint, tugging you back in for a deeper kiss. You tilted your face, whimpering as she forced your lips open with her tongue. Soft and wet as it slipped deep. Past the hesitation of doing wrong, you gave in entirely. Your hands dragged up her chest, hooking around her neck as you kissed her back, leaving her lips red with lipstick smears to match the flush on her cheeks. Before long, Abby had hoisted you on her hips, hands cupping your butt as you nuzzled into her neck. Your heels clattered to the floor. The scent of her sweat made you squirm around her even more.

You fell back on the couch. Her on top, pinning you down. You dropped your gaze down her front and she chuckled ever so softly. Voice low. With a quick yank, she pulled her t-shirt off her chest, stretching them over her broad shoulders. You bit your lip, staring at the veins throbbing along her waist, the deep v-cut leading inside her shorts. Your lids grew heavy with passion, running your nails up her smooth abs and cupping her silky breasts.

“I wanted to do this the day I met you” Abby groaned, fingers fussing with your first few shirt buttons, ripping the rest off as you gasped from the shock. “God” she nestled into your ample cleavage, inhaling your perfume as she kissed the tops of your breasts.

You wound your fingers into her ponytail, throwing your head back as she lowered the lace cups covering you, rubbing your nipples. Making them more sensitive. “Abby…” you mumbled into her hair as she began to tug and suck on them. You gripped her bare back with a hand, slipping the other low to push her shorts down, exposing the elastic of her underwear… the sight of her happy trail and lean hips left you panting in place.

Her back muscles rippled below your fingers, nails digging into her soft skin. Abby tugged your shirt off, leaving it draped on the couch arm as she ran her tongue down to your navel, slowly pushing your skirt past your hips. “Let me take them of-” she desperately tore your pantyhose mid-sentence, eyes affixed on the milky patch staining the narrow strip of fabric covering your pussy.

“I’m sick” you whined, covering your face as Abby slipped a thumb inside your crotch, slowly rubbing along your sticky folds, dipping ever so slightly into your entrance. It oozed on her thumb. She smiled at the way you closed around her. Teasing you. “I’m sick too” she raised her soaked thumb to her lips, dragging it across her tongue “I think we’re just right for each other.”

She took your hands away from your face, pinning them above your head “I wanted to ruin you in my office that day” she confessed, stroking the lace trim of your bra, caressing you with your eyes. “I wanted to straddle you in the booth at that diner” you admitted breathily, digging your thighs into her sides as she chuckled.

Abby’s voice trickled beneath your skin as you pushed her shorts down, slipping a hand below to cup her groin, the other squeezing her butt. Her pussy was plump and warm. Dripping wet. You slid over her slippery lips, her swollen clit. You giggled, watching her lose composure as you rubbed a circle around it, feeling it throb even harder.

“I want to feel it” you bucked your hips eagerly, back arched as she snuck out of her shorts and underwear. You hungrily stared at what the happy trail had been leading down to, offset by her massive, perfectly built thighs. You fell limp, legs open for her use as she pulled your panties aside, drawing out wet strings from your sopping pussy. You cried out softly as she ripped them at the seams, leaving you exposed. Dragging you forward, she raised your leg up on her shoulder, edging herself into you.

The skin on skin made you delirious, throbbing and snaking as she pulled you even closer. She held you in place with her hand on your ankle. Unable to inch away from where you eclipsed, rubbing and griding earnestly, the sounds getting louder. Wetter. You gripped her forearm, nails raking her skin, feeling the steady rhythm of your hips rocking, her abs dully slapping your inner thigh.

You bit your tongue lest you screamed from the pleasure. Sex had always been such a chore to you that you’d began associating it with work. But the friction of your folds and how perfectly you fit together made you rethink everything. Made you float. Made you wonder if you could ever stop once you started. The way her body pressed into yours at all the right places. How her muscles flexed and rippled against you. How needy her face looked; lips swollen and her eyes watery.

"Fuck” you cursed softly; hips raised to meet hers as the pressure on your clit made you shake uncontrollably. You reached below to place a palm on her hip, thumb pressing onto her clit. “Angie…” Abby’s hips grew more demanding, grinding down harder, squirting until you were sticky. Your breasts bounced pathetically as you fucked senseless, eyes rolling back into your head, lashes fluttering.

Your climax came hard and slow, bursting into an involuntary spasm which you let overwhelm you, quivering and squirting in place. She followed suit, holding you firm as she came, chasing it with more strong thrusts onto you, eliciting incoherent sounds of pleasure from your lips. Abby groaned, a sound rooted deep in her belly, chest rising and falling deeper. She collapsed on top of you, heaving.

You were already burning, but something about the weighted heat healed you. Let you know for sure that you weren’t alone. That you were being touched, heard, paid attention to. You couldn't be close enough to her, if only you could nestle inside her. Abby slipped her arms underneath you, head resting on your chest as you both cooled down. The ceiling felt blurry for the longest time, yellow lit from the standing lamp in the corner.

Her voice seemed to fix the ringing in your ear “I can hear your heart” Abby mumbled, the movement of her lips tickling your breast. “I can feel yours” you smiled, tracing down her shoulder blades. Abby wriggled up, level with you as she simply gazed down. “What?” you asked gently, looking into both her eyes, dilated with love.

“Promise me you won’t regret this…” she whispered, idle hand on your cheek. Wrought with innocent longing despite all the lust. “Promise me… you won’t regret us” she kissed the corner of your lips, wiping a loose eyelash. “M-mom!” Dylan shakily called from upstairs.

“Baby!” you shot up, frazzled as you look down. Ripped clothes leaving your tits sticking out, nethers exposed. Red-faced and desperate. Shame washed over you with the effect of cold water to the face, realizing how you’d been fucking around with your son’s soccer coach when you should’ve been paying attention to him. You shimmied your skirt down, grabbing your shirt from the couch and throwing it on.

Abby got herself in order too, straightening her t-shirt, slipping on her shorts “Hold on.” “No” you insisted, doing the buttons on your shirt that still remaining, tucking the shirt inside your skirt “You stay away.” You scrunched your face in regret, tucking your loose hair up as you hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Dylan sat up, looking disoriented and tired. “Sweetie” you sidle up on the bedside, pulling him into a hug “You’re, okay?”. He meekly nodded into your chest, mumbling a soft sorry. “It’s alright, baby…” you cuddle him “I’m just happy you’re safe.”

Abby hurried down behind you as made your way to the front door, holding Dylan in your arms. “Angie, wait” she tried to talk as she unlatched the front door, joining you down by the car “I’m really grateful for your help… but I need to take him home.” Abby helped open the door to the backseat, heartbroken as she watched you set Dylan down with the blanket curled on end to let him rest his head.

You shut the door turning to her “Abby, I…” you drop your words, uncomfortably crossing your arms as her face fell “You regret it” she affirmed with a quick nod of her head. “It’s not like that” you threw a glance back at Dylan, he was groggy again. “No, I get it" Abby looked defeated, deflating in exhale before she fetched a folded piece of paper from her pocket “Just wanted to give you this.” You took it quietly, biting your lip.

“She’s a child therapist… specializing in children of divorce” she stared at the road behind you, unable to meet your eyes. “Take care of him… Take care, Angie.” You caught skin from where you’d bit your lip. A sharp pain. “Thankyou” you stared at her just a second longer, reluctantly turning and getting into the driver’s seat. Abby didn’t stay back, no wave goodbye even as you kept looking in the sideview mirror. You didn’t deserve one.

Later at night

You lightly kicked open Dylan’s door, lugging in a big, steaming bowl on a wooden tray. “Big, chunky chicken noodles for my big boy” you sang, carefully setting it on his lap “Be careful, love.” Dylan smiled guiltily, accepting dinner. Too easily. “You didn’t have to, mom” he fiddled with the tray handle. “Who else will I do it for?” you shrugged, dipping the soup spoon in and bringing it to your lips to blow it cool.

“Open sesame” you fed him the first bite, raising your brows inquisitively. He gulped it down, nodding “It’s the best” he nodded “you’re the best.” You did a double take, shocked “Really?” you asked in disbelief. Dylan nodded, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve. He paused, contemplating.

“Sorry, mom” he repeated what he said after he’d woken up at Abby’s home. “What for…?” your hand hovered midair, spoon caught between your fingers. “Coach… she talked me down when I panicked on the field today” he confessed and you lost focus, staring down at your lap. “She told me to think of you” Dylan went on “Said that you love me the most, that you’re always thinking of me… protecting me. That you're the strongest person she knows.”

Your face crumpled and you tried to hide them but the tears snuck past “I know things have changed in a way they weren’t supposed to… I haven’t done my best, baby” you tried to keep your voice level, coherent “I know your miss dad… a lot.”

“I do but I miss you more, mom” Dylan reached for your hand, “I was being mean with you because you’d changed… and I didn't know what to do.” “It’s okay, baby” you held his little hand back, turning your face to him as you smiled despite "Sometimes, we're mean when we don't understand our feelings." Dylan smiled sadly but it still felt like hope. Like all the frost had finally melted. Warm and full again. Safe and sound.

At bedtime

After doing the dishes, you headed back to your bedroom to change for the night. You slipped into satin, brushing your hair in the mirror. In the reflection, your phone sat heavy on the nightstand, like a dancing pointer. You tied your hair in a knot, walking up to it and picking it up before you could let a thought interrupt.

You called her, getting rejected immediately. The screen went red and you gulped painfully, knowing you’d fucked up. You decided to message her, punching in “Will wait for u at school reception at 8 tom… would like to talk” you sent it and thankfully it went through.

You stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen, feeling stupid after a while. A knock came at the door, and you slid your phone under the pillow. Dylan peeked inside, pillow in hand “Can I sleep here tonight?” he mumbled and you beamed, patting the side on the bed next to you.

You snuggled in, covering you both in your comforter like old times. The scent of his hair and the back of his neck took you in like an embrace, reminiscent of when it all felt so new. Cradling your new baby, the night you brought him home. Nothing had changed. The thought of the young couch sat at the back of your mind, and you stared at the wall. Thinking.

Next day at school

The concrete flooring amplified your anxious heel clicks, drawing dirty looks from the couple other parents sitting on the plastic seaters. You made a quick oops face, stilling yourself. The container on your lap was beginning to leave an imprint. The felt bag you’d brought along had fallen into your side again.

It had been 20 minutes past 8, and it was starting to look like you’d be running late for work again. Not that Bill was going to take it up with you. You zoned out on a blur before realizing it was the coach walking towards you. You nearly leapt out of your seat before remembering the contents of the Tupperware.

“I’m so happy you came” you smiled at her gladly, slowly getting to your feet. “How can I help you, Mrs. Hendricks” Abby remained stone-faced, oddly formal. “I was hoping to talk to you” you glanced at the container in your arms and the felt bag on the chair behind “… in your office.” Abby sighed, body angling away from you. With her hands in her pockets, she turned on her heels “Follow me.”

It made for a silent stroll across the poorly blueprinted building to the sports’ department. Abby walked several steps ahead, unlike last time. Her ponytail was limp, slump in her walk, keys jangled in her pocket. It reminded you of Dylan angry-marching whenever he was in a funk. Abby unlocked her office door, holding it open for you as you ambled inside.

While still amenable, she wasn’t as warm as before. Understandably so. You entered her office, aware you had to do better if you were going to halfway fix things. You set the stuff you’d brought on an available corner of her desk, reaching for the photo frame. You gently stroked the glass case, smiling at the tiny, grainy girl. White jersey clad. She had blonde pigtails, big grin on her face. The grass stains must’ve been hell to remove you chuckled to yourself.

Abby clicked the door shut, hands in pocket as she turned around, awkwardly pillared in the corner. “I talked to Dylan and we called the therapist whose number you gave me” you tried to initiate chat “She said she’d be glad to see him Sundays and… he’s willing to give her a try.” “That’s promising” Abby bit the inside of her mouth, cautiously approaching her desk.

“I got your blankie back!” you beamed, placing a hand on the carry bag “I wanted to wash it but it smelt so much like you, I didn’t have the heart to” you looked up at her “so I just lint rolled it.”

Abby wordlessly tugged at her blanket. Fuzzy from wear, spattered with stars and rockets from her childhood. You tapped the ridges of your wristwatch to drown the silence, dropping your gaze upon realizing you were losing focus on the bumpy bridge of her nose. “I made you some chicken noodle soup” you said softly, pushing the box into view “Not that canned stuff! This is my grandma’s recipe I made from scratch” you threw a glance around the office. “You have a hotcase? I can just leave it there… have it warm by lunch.”

“Angie, you didn’t have to” Abby finally uttered and your hand flew to your chin, covering your neck so she wouldn’t see you gulp painfully. “I’m sorry if I’m doing too much” you apologized softly, facing in the opposite direction from her. Abby sighed, “It’s not that. I’m not mad at you after… what happened. You don’t have to make it up to me” she whispered. “I understand if you don’t want to complicate things over a relationship. With how things are for you, it’s beyond understandable. Just… be honest” she dug a nail under the Tupperware lid, toying with the rubber.

“Okay” you stepped closer to her, steeling your voice with as much brazen as you had in you. Honest. “Last night was the most alive I’d ever felt” you confessed, feeling the immediate burn in your cheeks from confrontation but you soldiered on. Abby exhaled ever so slightly, like she’d constricted her chest too long.

You lightly pressed your arm against hers, feeling her shiver despite the jacket “I wasn’t expecting to… not this strongly at least… to develop feelings for someone” you felt yourself losing breath “I’ve been a wife and mom for so long, I forgot how it felt like to be a lover… to be loved.” Abby blew out her cheeks as she tried to look at you, blanching quick “Love’s not enough, is it?” her voice broke, sliding her hands over the edge of her desk, gripping it.

“It’s not… my marriage taught me that if nothing else” you shook your head “But what I felt with you… it wasn’t frivilous. It was pure and hopeful. It was beautiful. I didn’t know what to do with it so I abandoned it... I abandoned you. I shouldn't have.” you apologized earnestly. Abby’s breath grew labored as she visibly fought to compose herself.

“Hey” you gently pulled her before you by her sleeve, peering up into her eyes “I want this” you raised your hand, stroking her freckled cheek with the back of your fingers. Abby nuzzled into your touch, closing her eyes in relief. Lashes fluttering. Her hands returned to their familiar place on your waist as you cradled her neck, soothing the goosebumps on her skin.

“I want you” you mumbled into her chest as you felt her graze the small of your back, rubbing a soothing circle “And though I’m a single mom, with a 9-year-old. I work a boring desk job, have a messy Civic and an even messier ex. I don’t have much going for me-” “Stop that” Abby lightly scolded you. “But-” you kept your eyes low, tugging on her zipper, scraping the cool metal “Never put yourself down, you hear me?” Abby angled your chin up, pressing her forehead to yours.

“Yeah but…” you tried not to lose yourself entirely in her overtures, her lips pecking your nose, brow and cheek. She snuck across your cheekbone to your ear, tinkling your earring. “I need you to know what you’re getting into” you insisted. Abby whispered against your temple “What makes you think I don’t know?” as you weakly tried to discourage her, more for your own sake than hers “Abby…” you stifled a moan.

“And I’ll have you know…” she firmly propped you on her desk, hand curling around your bare thighs “I wouldn’t have it any other way”. She noticed something, looking down at your legs.

“I told them I hit myself with a cabinet door” you sheepishly explained, lifting your leg to show off the deep red handprint on your ankle. Abby smiled, folding her sleeve up to reveal the devilish nail scrapes on her arm “Haven’t been able to take my jacket off all day” she informed you gravely, sending a rosy blush over your cheeks.

“We’ll have to invest in quite the parka, then…” you pouted; eyes filled with faux guilt “because it will happen again” a sudden smug grin curled up on your lips. Abby’s jaw dropped, grabbing you as she vigorously nuzzled into your neck amid your giggles “Someone’s going to be explaining several curling rod incidents soon.”

To be continued (?)

[omgstarks]

The Doctor Will See You Now (Stephen Strange x Reader)

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Nervous for your first ob-gyn visit, you meet the handsome Doctor Stephen Strange. As he guides you through the examination, a mix of anxiety and attraction brews.

Warnings: SMUT over 18+ ONLY, semi-public sex, creampie, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving)

AN: Just had my first cervical exam so...

“Hi, I’ve got an appointment at 4:00.” You leaned against the counter while the receptionist behind it typed away at her computer.

“Your name?”

“Y/N, L/N”

“Great, I’ve checked you in. If you can have a seat, one of the doctors will come out and call you.” She gave you a reassuring smile. You took a seat in the waiting room. It was a cold, bright room that was illuminated with harsh LED white lights. In the background, played some local radio station. You were feeling anxious. It would be your first time seeing an ob-gyn, and the thought of being bare from the waist down to a complete stranger was intimidating, even more so if the doctor wasn’t a woman.

You looked around the room to see some other patients of all ages waiting. Mostly women, but a handful of men. It was nice to know some men actually cared about their sexual health.

You waited patiently as patients came and went, scrolling through Instagram to past the time or just sitting alone in your thoughts, periodically skipping through songs on Spotify. Suddenly, the big doors leading to the examination rooms swung open, and a man walked through, clipboard in hand. All eyes followed, hopeful to be the next one called.

The doctor, tall, with a slender figure and dark hair graced by white at his temples, wore navy blue scrubs beneath a white lab coat. He wore a face mask which he took off revealing a sharp jawline and high cheek bones.

“Y/N? Y/N L/N.” He spoke in a low baritone voice, scanning the room. You lifted your hand and quickly grabbed your things, standing up to meet him. His eyes met yours, and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, and I’ll be conducting the examination and tests with you.”

“Hi,” you replied, a touch more nervous at the realization that your doctor was a man- even worse, an attractive one at that. He looked slightly older than you, probably in his late 30’s early 40’s But his clean-shaven face and styled hair, made him look younger.

“You can follow me this way.” He held the door open for you to walk through and led you down a hallway. You followed him, watching the white coat billowing behind.

“The room is just down here.” He motioned to the examination room at the end of the hall.

“Just take a seat in the blue chair by the computer, please.” You nodded and took a seat, scanning the room you were in. The room was small and sterile, with white walls and tile floors. A single circular window offered a view of the city below. 

On the wall by the door were a couple of large posters. One with the different forms of contraception and the other an infographic of the female reproductive system. Your eyes scanned the poster, and you felt a slight shiver run down your spine. You knew that this doctor would be examining your reproductive system in just a few minutes, and you couldn't help but feel nervous. He was an attractive man- a part of you just hoped you wouldn't embarrass yourself by doing anything inappropriate during your examination.

Doctor Strange sat at the computer, reading up on your record on the clipboard, and he cleared his throat and met your eyes.

“So, how are you feeling today?"

"Good. Just a little nervous." You admitted.

"That's understandable." Doctor Strange said. "But I promise that I'll make this as comfortable as possible for you." You nodded.

“I just have to ask you some questions before we start. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” You replied. He looked back to his computer and pulled up a long form.

“Can you recall when your last menstrual period was?”

“Umm, about two weeks ago.”

“Normal bleeding?”

“It’s been pretty irregular since I had the implant inserted a couple of months ago. I’ve heard it might just be the hormones?” You fiddle with your thumbs.

“Most likely. The progesterone in Nexplanon often induces variations in the menstrual cycle. But we’ll assess and rule out any potential underlying concerns." A reassuring smile accompanied the explanation.

“Great.”

“Are you currently taking any medication or supplements?” 

“No medication, but I am taking some vitamin D supplements.” This earned a small chuckle from him as he typed. “That’s a good idea during this gloomy time.”

“Just trying anything to combat the seasonal depression.” you joked.

“Maybe I’ll give that a shot.” He smirked.

Doctor Strange continued asking you questions, delving into your medical history and current health. He diligently typed your answers into the computer.

Your eyes flickered down to his fingers with each keystroke. His hands were big and the pads of his fingertips were almost the size of the keys themselves. Your eyes roamed up to the prominent veins etched on his hands, and you wondered how they would might feel pressed against your skin-

“And, when was the last time you had sex?” This took you out of your trance. You choked on your breath, a bit startled by the question. You knew it was routine—a standard procedure at a sexual health clinic. Yet, discussing your sexual history with a stranger felt strangely awkward. It was the kind of conversation you'd normally have with your best friend, someone who knew every detail of your life.

“Oh, um, probably 4 months ago.” The thought of your ex boyfriend brought a bad taste to your mouth.

“Was it oral or vaginal?”

“Both.” You said shyly.

“Both.” He murmured under his breath.

“And was the oral sex female or male receiving?”

“Male.” Unfortunately for me.

“Was this with a partner or casual?” 

“A partner- well, a former partner.”

"I'm sorry to hear that," he expressed sympathy. You shrugged, shaking your head.

"No don’t be. It's actually a blessing, more time for other important things."

"Let me guess... Playing the piano and reading?" you quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes..? How did you—"

He pointed to your purse at your on the floor. "You've got a piano keychain on your purse, plus I’d recognize 1984 anywhere. Just putting two and two together."

"You're quite observant."

"It’s what makes me a good doctor," he responded, the trace of a smile lingering on his lips before he cleared his throat and shifted his attention back to the computer.

“So that’s all the questions. I’m just going to take your height, weight and blood pressure before we proceed with the exam. If you can stand on the scale for me.” He motioned over the scale in the corner of the room. After taking your weight, he showed you where to stand to take your height.

“If I can have you here..” He gently placed his hands on either side of your arms and subtly shifted you to the correct position. Standing close, he measured your height, his baritone voice murmuring softly as he read the numbers above your head. His demeanour, a blend of professionalism and subtle warmth, left an intriguing impression on you. Stepping back, he instructed you to take a seat for the blood pressure test.

You nodded and rolled your sleeve up, exposing one of your tattoos. He rolled his chair towards you, taking your arm and wrapping the blood pressure sleeve around your bicep, his eyes flickering down to your tattoo of a treble and bass clef in the shape of a heart.

"That's a lovely tattoo," he complimented with a smile. "Any special meaning?"

“I just love music.” you chuckled. “So much so I’m doing a masters in NYU in Music Theory.” 

“Impressive.” He commented. “I take it you’re quite skilled at playing instruments.”

“Piano mostly. I could probably make it with the violin and the French horn as I grew up playing those as well.” 

“Quite a range. I have a baby grand at home, though my duties as a doctor don't afford much playing time."

"You must play well. No one just has a baby grand in their home. Maybe you’re just as skilled as I am." you teased, earning a smirk.

"Observant, aren't you?"

"You’re rubbing off on me already," you quipped, realizing right after your unintended flirtation. Fortunately, the blood pressure machine's timely interruption spared you the potential embarrassment of Doctor Strange witnessing your flushed face.

"So- Before we proceed with the examination, let me outline the tests we'll be conducting today. We'll check for STIs like gonorrhoea or chlamydia, BV and thrush, HPV, and perform a pap smear and pelvic exam," he explained.

“Okay.” you replied.

Standing, he moved to the other side of the room, drawing back a yellow curtain to reveal an examination table. A crisp white paper sheet ran down its length, with stirrups at the end for leg support.

“So you’ll need to take everything off from the waist down, lie back on the table, and position yourself at the edge," he instructed, tearing off a piece of the sheet. "Here's a covering for you while you're on the table." You nodded, and as you approached the exam table, he closed the curtain to give you some privacy during the undressing process.

"I'll be back shortly with all the necessary supplies," he assured.

"Okay," You responded, and the door closed behind him as he exited the room.

You positioned yourself by the bed, swiftly removing your pants and underwear. Folding them neatly, you placed them on the chair next to the head of the exam table, subtly concealing your underwear beneath your pants.

As you lay back on the table, draping the paper sheet over the exposed lower half of your body, the realization hit you—this was really happening. Your gaze fixated on the light fixture above, and the door creaked open.

You could hear him on the other side of the curtain, likely organizing the tools needed for the examination.

"Just locking the door to ensure privacy during the exam," he informed.

"Okay." The prospect of being alone with him in a locked room, your lower half exposed, triggered a whirlwind of thoughts. It was probably all routine for him. You’re just another patient.

"All set up. Ready for me to pull back the curtain?" he asked.

“Yes, I’m ready.” He pulled back the curtain, looking down at you as you lay before him. Your eyes met his, and this made your thighs twitch a little. He sat down at the other end, between your legs and pulled the table holding all the supplies towards him. 

"Could you shift a bit more towards the edge?"

"Um, yeah, sure." You attempted to move, struggling a bit due to the stirrups.

“I know, I’m sorry, it can be quite difficult,” he reassured, aiding you by holding the stirrups in place, and his hand subtly grazed your inner calf. Eventually, you managed to shift forward enough for him to proceed.

“Now, I’m just going to lift the table up.” He informed you. The table started to move up until you were almost at eye level with him. You laid back, hearing him putting on latex gloves on his hands.

“Before we begin the exam. I’ll be examining the outside of your vagina to make sure that everything looks okay.” You nodded, and you started to feel your face heat up as he pulled back the paper covering you, exposing your vagina to him. You let out a soft exhale as you felt his warm, gloved fingers open and move your vulva to the side. Before you could think much of it, it was over.

“Everything looks good, now for the swab tests. Again, the first test will be the STI screening test, and I’ll be inserting a swab inside your vagina. Shouldn’t hurt, but please let me know if you feel any discomfort.” 

“Sure.” You nodded. You felt a thin object slide into your vagina with ease. He twisted the swab before removing it and placing it in a test tube.

“Next will be the internal exam, I’ll use the speculum to gently widen your vagina so then I can collect a small sample.” You nodded.

“Have you had an internal exam before?”

“No.”

“Would you like to see what it looks like before I start?” You nodded, and he held up the plastic instrument. It looked quite small initially before he started to open it, showing you how it works.

“This might cause some discomfort, so please don’t hesitate to tell me to stop.”

“Okay..” You breathed, laying back down on the table. Before you knew it, you felt the cold, lubed-up plastic tool sliding into your vagina. You took a sharp breath, and your thighs started to quiver. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. Just breathe.” he spoke in a in a soothing manner. You felt a hand on your inner thigh- like that was going to help you relax any more. Your thighs trembled under his touch, all a mix of nervousness, and discomfort and just a hint of arousal as you felt his thumb lightly caressing your inner thigh. You squeezed your eyes shut, lightly gripping the hem of your shirt, trying to focus on your breathing and not so much the discomfort the speculum was causing. 

“You’re doing well.” He spoke as he inserted the small brush to collect the sample from your cervix, then inserted cotton swabs for the other tests. 

“Just one more..”

The last swab test was done, and Doctor Strange closed the speculum and slid it out of you.

“How are you feeling?” You opened your eyes and nodded.

“I’m okay.”

“Would you like to take a break before I proceed with the pelvic exam?”

“I think I’m okay.”

“This shouldn’t cause much discomfort as the speculum, but I’ll be gentle.” He quickly changed out his gloves for a new pair and squirted some lube on his fingers. He placed a hand on your lower stomach before slowly inserting two fingers into you. Oh god- 

“Tell me if this is okay…”

It was more than fucking okay. Not having sex in 3 months was going to be the death of you.

“I-it’s okay.” you stuttered. His hand started to press into your stomach as his fingers moved in a circular motion, palpating the organs within. You felt a slight pressure, but it was not painful, more like a gentle exploration.

The examination continued, Doctor Strange’s movements were precise yet gentle. As if you were an instrument, he was expertly playing. His fingers were thick and felt amazing inside you. No one- not even your stupid past boyfriends had been able to make you feel like this during sex.

The feeling was getting almost overwhelming for you, and it caused you to roll your head back into the exam table and let out a soft moan. Oh fuck.

The silence was broken, with Doctor Strange clearing his throat and withdrawing his fingers from you.

“I-I am so sorry. I- I didn’t mean to do that. God-�� You quickly covered yourself with the sheet in shame. You watch as Doctor Strange removed his gloves with a loud pop from the latex before tossing them into the trash. For a moment, he was silent, as if he was trying to assess the awkward situation you had put on him.

He stood up, quickly glancing over to the locked door, before turning his head back over to you, his eyes scanning your bare legs.

“Are you sure?” You raised an eyebrow at him, confused about what he had meant.

“You said you didn’t mean to do that- but why do I get the feeling you were..enjoying it?”

Your face burned, unable to answer his sudden questioning. You tried to deny it, although deep inside, you know his words to be true.

“The way you looked at me this whole time. The way your body has responded to my every touch. Not to mention how soaking wet you were when I put my fingers inside you. Surely you could feel your arousal dripping onto my table?”

He was now towering over you; his cold blue eyes were darkened with lust. 

“I’m sorry about the table.” You gave him an innocent look, which caused him to smirk.

“No, you’re not.”

He shed his coat, tossing it casually beside your neatly folded pants and underwear. Your eyes couldn't help but trace the contours of his arms sculpted with toned muscles, veins subtly weaving along their sides. A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed, caught in a moment of silent admiration for this god-like man standing before you.

He walked back around to the edge of the table. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him from between your legs. He looked at you before pulling the curtain close and moving the exam table down a bit. 

“I just need a taste.” He groaned, then buried his head between your legs. 

“Oh fuck-” You breathed out, feeling his mouth envelop you. You let out a shaky breath as he found your clit a moved his tongue across it, softly playing with it with the tip of his tongue. He placed each hand on either side of your thigh to hold you open and keep your hips from moving while his mouth worked on you.

“Talk to me, sweetie.” He said before pushing his tongue inside you. 

“Oh my god..” You groaned, your eyes rolling back. You physically couldn’t speak, not properly, that is.

“Tell me how good this feels.”

“It-it feels so good, Doctor-” You managed to say. He pulled his face away from you for a moment, and you looked down at him, the bottom half of his face wet with your slick- which made him even more sexy.

With his fingers, he traced your slit slowly, watching you twitch every time his finger brushed against your clit. 

“Look at you.” He licked his lips as if he was a starved man. “Look how your body responds to me. No one has ever made you like this, have they? Not even your idiot ex-boyfriend who doesn’t know how to eat cunt.” You vigorously shook your head, wanting him to stop talking and continue where he had left off. You were close, and somehow you knew that he knew that.

“Please. I need more.” You moaned.

He carefully pushed his finger into you, his eyes never leaving yours. He added another finger, watching you carefully, and he curled his fingers up to caress your g-spot. He moved his fingers back and forth in this motion, finding arousal not only from your body but your reactions.

“I can see you’re close, sweetie. Don’t hesitate. Give me a taste of your sweet nectar.”

He leaned back in and found your clit easily- sucking hard then flicking his tongue against the small sensitive bud that immediately sent you over the edge. 

You let out a choked groan, hips buckling against his face as you came and flooded his mouth with your cum.

He removed his mouth from you, and you looked down at him, seeing your arousal drip from his chin. His mouth twitched up in a small smile as he stood. He grabbed the end of his shirt to remove it in one fell swoop. 

“No- wait.” you stopped him. His eyes quickly flicked with concern.

“Um...Can you leave it on..?” He gave you a look of confusion before understanding what you were asking of him.

“Are you saying you want me to fuck you with my scrubs on?”

You nodded shyly, wanting to fulfil the fantasy of fucking a Doctor.

He hid his wide smile and shook his head in disbelief. “Ohh, you dirty girl.” He pushed the waistband of his pants down to his mid-thigh, and you watched his cock, sprang up from out of his boxers. My God was he was thick. When you thought the speculum opened you up too wide, you wondered how his cock would feel stuffed inside you.

“Is this okay?” The lust from his eyes disappeared for a moment when he asked. You reassured him with a nod. 

“All I want is you right now, Doctor.” his eyes darkened once again, and he lined the thick head of his cock at your entrance, using some of your cum as lube. He put one hand on your knee and the other on the base of his cock to steady himself as he pushed inside you. You squeezed your breast as he moved slowly, inch by inch. 

“Shit-” He breathed once he was sheathed inside of you. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his breathing shallowed.

“Are you okay?” He asked once again. 

“I-I’m fine. You’re just too big.” The corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was proud of his size. Who wouldn’t be?

He rubbed your lower stomach soothingly, saying, “Just breathe, relax your core for me.” You nodded, trying to relax until the pain started to transition into pleasure.

“Okay, you can start moving now.” He nodded. He pulled his hips back a little, watching his cock inch out of you before pushing himself back into your heat. He continued this slow, shallow pace until he could move in with ease.

“Fuck-” You allowed yourself a soft moan, letting your head roll back from his thrusts.

“God, you’re so tight I might actually cum.” He stilled, moving his hands across your legs and touching your skin. 

“I don’t mind.” You winked teasingly.

“And cut all of this short? I’ll fuck you all day if I could.” Your face warmed up at the idea. He rocked his hips back and forth, holding you by your legs to pull you into him. You gripped the sides of the examination table, letting out a guttural groan with his every thrust. You didn’t know it was possible to feel this much pleasure.

“I’m so close, Doctor.”

“Stephen. Call me Stephen.” 

“Cum with me, Stephen, please.” You begged, watching him fuck you in an animalistic nature.

“Oh, Y/N-” After a couple of thrusts, you felt his cock throb inside your walls at the same time, the pressure in your stomach began to roll over. Gripping your thighs tight, he thrust into you one more time as deep as he could, letting his cock pump his cum into you.

His head fell back as his orgasm coursed through him, wave after wave, until Stephen filled you up to the brim. You felt the slick of your combined arousal leak out of you, dripping down between your ass.

He ground his hips to keep his cum from spilling out completely. He looked up from where you two met, and you reciprocated his exhausted smile. Your eyes were glassy with tears from the intense orgasm that had left your body and thighs shaking. His chest heaved deeply with each intake of breath.

Whilst still inside you, Stephen carefully moved your legs from off the stirrups, placing them down on the tabletop carefully. He got on top of you carefully to hold you for just a moment.

He lifted his head to look at you, sweaty and dishevelled. He leaned down to give you a kiss. You could still taste yourself on his lips, but it didn’t matter.

“We should do this again.” You broke the silence as he pulled his softening cock out of you. You groaned softly, suddenly feeling empty.

“Oh sweetie, give me at least 10 minutes before we start again.” He laid by your side with a deep groan.

“No, I mean in general, old man.” You teased. “I want to do this again sometime.” 

“Come over for dinner tonight, and I can show you more.” his lips curled into a teasing smile.

“Like your baby grand?” He let out a deep laugh. “Only if you promise to play something for me.”

“Fuck me good, and we’ll see.”

“Oh baby, there’s no doubt about that.” He smirked, pulling you into another deep kiss again. A thought popped into your head, and you pushed him back gently.

“By the way, was everything good..you know, down there?” He responded with a light-hearted chuckle to your unexpected inquiry and gave you a kiss on your temple. 

“Yes, you're perfectly healthy.”

[hh0320]

໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco. 

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on. 

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you. 

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle. 

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you. 

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone. 

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world. 

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

[static-fucking-mess]

"Billy—"

A dull buzzing thrummed through Billy's head as he pushed his palms into his eyes. The explosion of color there brought on by the pressure could almost be grounding, but it felt like the whole room was spinning. His ears rang, and his stomach felt cold. Was he shaking?

"Billy—"

The voice came to him like a dull roar from above water. God it felt like he was drowning. The pressure closing in on his ribs made each breath like labor pain. He was going to be sick, God he was sure of it. Was he crying?

Billy nearly jumped out of his skin when impossibly gentle hands grazed the outsides of his arms. Wide eyed and alarmed, Billy flinched into himself with his hands balled into fists, like he was getting ready to defend against a strike. A cornered animal with fangs ready to bite.

All at once that voice from above water came crashing in on him like a soothing balm. Eddie's dark eyes filled with so much love Billy almost feared he would overflow from it. He had to close his eyes again. It felt like salt in a raw wound to be treated so softly when all Billy felt like he was made of violence and razor wire.

"There he is; hey sweetheart. You had a nightmare," Eddie whispered to him. Billy registered that he was in fact crying, as Eddie's calloused thumbs were brushing the tears off his cheeks. Billy clenched his jaw until it creaked, trying not to fall to pieces. But how could he not when his boyfriend's arms encircled him and cared for each little piece like it was precious?

"I know," Eddie soothed, his palm spreading between Billy's shoulders, rubbing down his back and up again in large, soothing circles. "Which one?" He asked with gentle concern.

"S... seeing them m... melt away. The cold... the..." the sauna dream... where the walls of melted faces would echo back to him the things that vecna had told him. The helpless feeling of screaming for anyone to believe him. Believe him. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. That monster made him, he didn't WANT to hurt people.

"It's 2:16 am, we're in our apartment in Chicago. It's Saturday morning. We had— do you remember what we had for dinner? I totally forgot," there was a gentle humor in Eddie's voice. "Remind me, sweetheart."

Billy wrinkled his nose and stopped to think about what a bizarre question that was, his stuttering breaths coming just a little easier as he thought back to earlier in the evening when Eddie had the radio cranked, singing along to My Sharona in weird ass voices, just to make Billy laugh. He'd made—

"Macaroni and cheese. Right from scratch... with hotdogs in it."

His favorite.

"With lactose free milk and cheese," Billy added quietly. Because those things mattered to Eddie. Billy's preferences and health. The things that would make him sick.

"You said I added too much pepper," Eddie teased, pressing sweet kisses to his cheek, his temple, the top of his head. Each one felt like a tiny 'I love you'.

"You did," Billy grouched, fingers twisting and untwisting in the ends of Eddie's curly hair. "See...? Gave me nightmares," he accused, allowing himself that small edge of humor.

Eddie laughed, but covered his heart with his hand as he pulled back to look at Billy, his whole expression lit with affection. Like he was searching for all the little broken parts of Billy to piece back together and love.

"Well you have my sincerest apologies, Sir Hargrove. Next time I will pluck each pepper from thy noodles until it is unto your standard," he snickered, and stole a tender kiss off Billy's reluctant smile.

"You better, Munson. And I expect the hot dogs more plentiful next time too."

"Of course, of course," Eddie smiled, rocking them both back and forth until Billy was laughing in his arms.

"I love you," Billy blurted, before he realized he'd said it. And then it was out there, and he tensed for the blow to come. The one that would wrench all that comfort away. He waited for Eddie to react more profoundly than he did.

"I love you too."

Like it was as easy as breathing. Because to Eddie, it was. Billy Hargrove was easy to love. Every jagged piece of him. And more than any conversation about grief, or dinner, or comfort Eddie could spin, those three words did more to comfort away the remnants of the nightmare than anything else. Because someone who didn't love you wouldn't see him the way Eddie did. Eddie loved like it was in short supply and he had an unlimited amount to give. Every gentle touch and action spoke to it. Especially when he squeezed Billy right to him to try and sink those words into his bones.

"I love you too."

[thewriterg]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭?

pairing(s): peter parker x gn!reader, peter parker x widow!reader (can be read as any peter)

summary: Your head was always spinning, you couldn’t eat, and if you got up to fast your vision would be blurry for at ten minutes at a time coming home Peter didn’t expect you to see you as bad as he did when he came home and he’d do everything to make it better. You had to get better.

word count: 1.8k

request(s): Can you do like a Peter Parker x sick reader. Where like Peter was doing night patrol and came home to the reader asleep on the floor in the bathroom but like whining in her sleep because her head and stomach hurts. So Peter picks them up and they hug him so tight and tells him it hurts. Peter does everything in his power to make it stop hurting but you end up going to the doctor and find out they have a new virus that takes 2 weeks to recover from but a week before it isn't contagious any more. So Peter Parker has to take care of them for 2 weeks because she has it really bad.

warning(s): sickness, descriptions of throw(ing) up, blood, pain, crying, doctors, hospitals, medicine, pills, sickness, kisses, pet names, and language

A/n: —GIF: @dailymarvelstudios & @peterparkcr— umm so your girl’s motivation has been one to none and I re-wrote this like four times so 😊

Peter sat on top of a building watching the busy streets of New York pass by it was shy of 10:30pm and Peter was itching to get home to you not that he even wanted to think about leaving your side to go patrol anyhow

You were sick, sick was honestly a understatement for how you felt usually You and Peter would go on patrol together but not today The brunette sat in his seat antsy like

It, your sickness has been working up to this point for three days now.

First, it was not being able to keep food down even though Peter was worried you just blew it off as food poisoning and not having an appetite for anything

Next, was blurry vision every time you stood up Peter thought I was maybe from you lack of eating but when he saw that it made you so d i z z y it practically knocked You off your feet he knew it wasn’t the case

Last, was the headaches.

You don’t even know if you could call them just mediocre headaches

Because they weren’t

It felt like a hummingbird or a woodpecker just tapping their rough beaks into your nerve system

Or a lumberjack pulling a saw back and forth on the corners of your brain chipping it o f f piece by piece little by little

Peters senses we’re going haywire and yet it wasn’t because of any crime or any bullets flying towards his temples no.

It was radio silence on the Tuesday night of New York and he decided to call it early the world would do okay without Spider-Man for one night and the brunette began to swing his way back home to you

💌💌💌💌

“Darling, i’m home!” Peter made sure he wasn’t too loud to make your pain in your head any worse but loud enough so you wouldn’t be alarmed at his sudden presence

“Love?” Peter called out into the air again once he didn’t see you in your usual spot over the last couple of days your side of the bed was empty the covers pooling around the mattress

Peters heart began to die down in his chest once he saw the the bathroom light on letting a soft sigh escape his pink lips approaching the wooden door letting his fist softly hit the surface

“Are you okay in there?” Peter waited for a response and when he didn’t get one his heart was right back to its irregular beating patterns and his suit sticking to his skin didn’t do anything to help

“Y/n?” Peter never used your real name but he would go to any extent when it came to your health the Brunette listened closely and could hear you stirring and whimpering swearing that his heart stopped in that moment

“Darling I’ll break down this door I swear!” When seconds past and all Peter got in response was whining and labored breaths he didn’t hesitate to ram his shoulder into the door before the wood began to break under the force and finally flew open

The sight of you sleeping, bunched up, cradling yourself in a ball, sweat dripping down your forehead, and all around just sickly looking made Peters heartbreak in his chest as he immediately crouched by Your side scooping your overly warm body in his arms shushing you as the whimpers left your lips

“Oh baby…” The brunette trailed off, his eyes watering as he swept your hair out of your face as it stuck to your forehead from the cold sweat that rested in small beads on your body. When your eyes finally fluttered open they were dull, far away, almost lifeless.

“P-peter it hurts” You were whining now pressing yourself into Peter's abdomen as if he could take all the pain away and in every moment you were he wished he could

“I know darling, I know, I got you.” Finally standing to his feet with you in his arms legs wrapped around his l a n k y torso and head resting on his shoulder as he entered your shared room stepping in front of your bed going to lower your body on the cushion before you whimpered in protest clinging on tighter

“Okay, okay, I know” Peter reclined in his steps finally feeling your tears seep through his suit as he patted your back rubbing circles with his palm as your sobs voided his ears causing his heart to crack in two

“I’m sorry baby I’m so, so sorry I don’t know what to do.” Tears began to spill from the brunettes eyes as he began to dart around the room collecting clothes to put on your body Your crying never ceasing as Peter struggled to your sweatpants over your legs and soon enough you were heading out the window secured to Peters chest swinging from building top to building top

💌💌💌💌

Peter sat next to your bedside holding your hand with interlocked fingers even though it was one sided as you lied unconscious the team of nurses and doctors had to sedate your thrashing body much to the boys dislike it had been just about a day now and the doctor had diagnosed you with a immune virus that no matter how many health classes he took over his years of Highschool and now college had no clue where it began to start but it would take at least two weeks to drain your system with the prescribed orange pill bottle that the nurse had given to Peter to give to you

Peters head snapped to yours as your fingers began to twitch in his hold and his leg bounced up and down in anticipation because he couldn’t tell the difference between you waking up or your body having a muscle spasm

But Peters prayers to Thor and whatever God was out there were answered when you finally opened your eyes met with dim lights recommended by the brunette who knew they weren’t fun when you were out for a while and when you finally made eye contact his heart could just about burst in his chest

“You scared me ha lf to death you know that?” The boy stated gripping your hand a little tighter making sure you IV wasn’t in his path while you softly smiled at him rubbing your thumb back and forth against his skin

“I’m sorry” You moaned your head beginning to softly pulsate in your ears as you tried to blink the tears away from your eyes for Peters heart sake

“Here take these, helps drain the bug out of you faster” The brunette handed you a small cup that consisted of two white pills and a small bottle of water as you swallowed them down taking the water with you sighing into the small hospital room when you were done

“Mmm, I don’t think i want you out of me any longer” You responded taking your index and middle finger imitating a spider crawling up Peters arm onto his shoulder as he swatted your hand away and you chuckled in your temporary bed

“Please, god stop” You watched in amusement as the boy turned pink and bright red even after four years in a relationship and sixteen years in friendship things never change

“They tell you when I can get out of here bug boy?” You questioned stretching your arms over your head a slight arch in your back before settling in your seat looking over to Peter for an answer

“They said once you woke up they would have to do a few exams and depending how they turn out you could leave today or stay another week” Peter sighed taking hold of the hospital bed remote in his hand a pressing the big dull, worn, red ‘nurse help’ button

Soon enough there were two nurses to wheel you away for testing before You gave Peter one of your ‘spider-hearts’ you always did with your hands and he replicated the same until he could no longer see your figure and sighed sitting back down his seat fiddling with his fingers as he waited

💌💌💌💌

You were good to go the Doctor gave you discharge papers, Peter some instructions on how he should care for you the next couple of days to a week, and his signature to get a refill of medication when your pills has ran low since you had to take three a day but at least you were out

That’s how you found yourself in this position burrito’ed in two thick blankets as Peter spoon feed you alphabet vegetable soup May had made once she heard about your illness even though she was a bit confused on how you were in this predicament with your… abilities she still wished you a fast recovery and continued to call Peter over to bring you a new soup every two days declaring if you ate Peters soup you’d never get better

You’d never seen your boyfriend so offended

“Just two more bites” The brunette pleaded and you shook your head like a four year old refusing to eat the vegetables provided on their plate

“You know you’re a very difficult patient” Peter sighed pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose as You snorted rolling your eyes finally taking the bite of soup off the spoon into your mouth

“Says you remember when you got your wisdom teeth pulled?” You reminded your partner as he deflated sitting the semi empty bowl on the nightstand and tucking your head into your neck

“You promised to never bring that up” He whined and you felt the vibrations along with his cool breath traveling up the nape of your neck it could’ve made you shudder but you were to busy stifling a chuckle rubbing circles on the brunettes back

“I promised to never bring up unless you gave me a reason to plus this is like maybe the second time I’ve been sick in like… seven years” Your hands traveled to his hair now as you twisted his curls in between your fingertips

“That’s fair” Peter mumbled before rolling over to the side of you as you slid down to get more comfortable in your position

“You know the best thing about spider-perks” Peter piped up turning towards you as hummed with a furrow of your brows for him to continue his exploration

“I could do this… and not have to deal with the sickly consequences” Peters lips were on yours in a silent pause before he continued and you rolled your eyes before pecking his cheek before nuzzling into his side as he welcomed you with open arms

Even if you were a difficult patient Peter wouldn’t have it any other way

[livesincerely]

It starts as a pretty typical shift, which, honestly, should’ve been his first warning.

They’re responding to a fire at an upscale health and fertility clinic. The sprinkler system’s already taken care of any flames but that hadn’t stopped the people inside from trampling over each other in their hurry to evacuate; he doesn’t envy Chim, Hen, or Eddie at all, watching the three of them struggle to wrangle a crowd of hysterical pregnant people and their partners into some semblance of order.

Which leaves Buck to do a final sweep of the building for any stragglers.

He’s checking the storage area tucked in the back when he opens a door and is hit with a face full of some kind of… mist?

It's sticky and cloying—almost like a perfume, maybe, but with a bitter edge—and his eyes start tearing up immediately, sinuses stinging. He wipes his face with the sleeve of his uniform, and that seems to help some, but he’s definitely gonna need a shower and a change of clothes when they get back to the station.

“Buckley to Cap,” he calls over the radio. “We’re all clear inside.”

“Copy that,” Bobby responds. “Meet back outside, we’ll regroup.”

He’s outside chatting with Munroe from Squad 4 when things suddenly shift.

Buck staggers on the spot, hot and hazy with it, something sharp tingling behind his teeth. His vision is swirling, his mouth painfully dry.

He blinks once, then twice, then swallows hard.

“—okay? Your whole face has gone red, man.”

“I’m—“ Buck tries. When the fuck did it so hot? “It’s—“

“Do you need to sit down?” Munroe asks, reaching out to steady him. “I can help you over to the curb—“

Buck bats the hand away, bristling at the contact. “No, no, I’m good, I just got dizzy for a second—“

A growl cuts through the air behind him, fierce and furious. Monroe startles, his eyes wide, but it’s like Buck’s entire spine softens, tension seeping away as if it was never there.

He’s certain before he even turns. “Eddie.”

“What’s wrong?” Eddie demands, and his hands land on Buck’s shoulders, then shift up to cup his jaw, his eyes darting over every inch of his face. Buck relaxes into his hold, something about Eddie’s touch soothing a part of him that he didn’t know needed soothing. “Why do you— What happened?”

“What happened with what?” Buck mumbles, ducking down until he can rest his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder.

This quickly proves to be the best idea ever because Jesus Christ, since when did Eddie smell so fucking good? His scent washes over him—rich, decadent even, like the darkest of dark chocolate with just a hint of something spicy underneath—and it’s mouthwatering, it’s addicting, and Buck leans closer, desperate for more.

“You smell really good,” Buck informs him—just in case Eddie didn’t know, because he’s helpful like that. He rubs his cheek against Eddie’s neck, then nuzzles against his jaw, the rough edge of his stubble prickling deliciously against his skin. “Like, so fucking good.”

Eddie makes a noise that’s halfway between a laugh and a groan and his arms curl around his waist, strong and steady.

“I smell good?” he asks, incredulous. “I smell— Buck, I can smell you clear from the other side of the building.”

“No, you can’t,” Buck disagrees. “‘M on suppressants. My scent’s all…” He drags the tip of his nose along Eddie’s hairline, then presses his mouth to his temple, breathing him in. “Subtle. Muted. Though, there was a study back in 2017 that found that excessive suppressant use can sometimes lead to this weird condition that makes everything smell and taste like coconut, but to be honest, their sample size left a lot to be desired—“

“No, Buck,” Eddie interrupts, in a voice like sandpaper. “I can definitely smell you.”

“Oh.” Buck considers this for a moment. “What do I smell like?”

Eddie makes another one of those noises—low and throaty and a little pained—and his hands splay wide over his lower back.

“Chim!” he calls over his shoulder. “Chim, I need you over here!”

“Eddie,” Buck whines. “You didn’t answer me.” A horrible thought occurs to him, and his voice wobbles when he asks, “Do I smell bad?”

“Trágame, tierra,” Eddie mutters under his breath. Louder, he says, “No, querido, you don’t smell bad. You smell…”

Eddie pauses a second too long. Buck pulls back to look at him, a little afraid of what he’ll find, but Eddie’s eyes are dark and hooded, those brown eyes smoldering like embers. His nostril flare as he takes in another deep inhale, and his gaze turns heated, turns hungry.

Buck’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Good,” Eddie finishes hoarsely. “Really good.”

[omegaremix]

Omega Radio for July 16, 2022; #317.

Mom: “Things Come Into Place”

Bambounou: “Temple”

Blawan: “Klade”

Spiritflesh: “Menace”

Christoph De Babalon: “Ether”

Jay Glass Dubs: “Mordecai Dub”

Airhead: “Pyramid Lake”

Icky Reels: “Chunky Gloss”

Muslimgauze: “Full Metal Yashmak”

MssingNo: “Guiders”

Flyamsam: “The Offbeat”

Kazu: “Salty”

Cherushii & Maria Minerva: “A Day Without You (Leech)”

Ago: “Above”

Champagne Mirrors: “Tunnel 13”

French Fries ft. Bambounou: “Kepler”

Haircuts For Men: “Dead Friends”

Kedr Livanskiy: “Boy”

Nick Klein: “Tambourine Man”

Beauty Pill: “At A Loss”

Maria Chavez: “Civitella #3”

Trim: “Seeker”

Zigtrax: “A2”

Satoshi & Makoto: “Crepuscle Leger”

Flora Yin Wong: “Eve”

Arushi Jain: “Under The Lilac Sky”

Public Service Broadcasting: “Lichtspiel III: Symphonie Diagonale”

Paper Dollhouse: “Space III”

Free Love: “Love Is Love”

Iguana Moonlight: “V”

Sugar High: “Ugly”

Nite Jewel: “To Feel It”

Girlpool: “Nothing Gives Me Pleasure”

Mount Kimble: “Maybes” (James Blake RMX)

L.A. Vampires & Cologne: “Search4Love”

True Blossom: “Serious Boys”

Pond: “Human Touch”

Unknown Me: “Traffic (Taipei)”

Grimes: “Shinigami Eyes”

Chvrches ft. Robert Smith: “How Not To Drown”

Mr. Kitty ft. Pastel Ghost: “Habits”

Deftones: “Knife Prty” (Purity Ring RMX)

Health X Poppy: “Dead Flowers”

El Perro Del Mar ft. Blood Orange: “Alone In The Halls”

New Mexican Stargazers: “Freeway Enlightenment”

Double deluxe Omega: electronics and pop.

[reasoningdaily]

Terrence Howard Talks About the 6000-Year-Old Secret of The Flower of Life

The Flower of Life has mystified civilization for more than 6000 years. Terrance Howard explains the physics, math and logic behind this ancient tool. Existential Knowledge like this from Terrance Howard is surprising, since we never knew he was a physics buff.

Watch This and learn how this Beautiful symbol clarifies Life and Energy as Existence.

What is the flower of life?

The flower of life is one of the most recognized symbols in the ancient and modern world. The sacred geometric pattern consists of 19 intersecting circles spaced evenly from each other that reveal an intricate pattern of overlapping symmetrical flowers. 

The striking visual is meant to represent creation, the sacred masculine and divine feminine, and cycles of life, death, and rebirth. Some believe the flower of life is also a key that can unlock hidden knowledge of time and space within its petal-like structures. 

"At baseline, it is a geometric form of perfect—and some would say divine—proportion," intuitive energy healer and author of Energy Work for the Everyday to Elite Athlete Cyndi Dale tells mindbodygreen. "The flower of life is a beautiful and ancient symbol that has been depicted in many cultures across time. It's found in Egyptian, Hindu, Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, and Judaic artwork, religious structures, and manuscripts," she adds.

Based on Assyrian relics, historians can date the flower of life to 645 B.C.

Beyond its earliest origins, author of Sacred Geometry: How To Use Cosmic Patterns To Power Up Your Life Jemma Foster shares that the flower of life can also be found in countless temples and sacred sites across the globe, like the 5,000-year-old walls of the Osirian temple in Egypt, where it is burned into the stone as if by laser. 

Meaning and symbolism of the flower of life.

"The flower of life represents the cycle of creation and the interconnectedness of all life," Dale says. Spiritually, the symbol can be used as a focus for attaining a sense of enlightenment and the awareness of peace. "It can also be used symbolically as a pathway to seek our personal and unique purpose within the greater universe," she adds.

Beyond its spiritual implications, Dale explains the flower of life also has associations with the chakra system—the main energy centers of the body. When there are no blockages and energy can effortlessly course throughout the entire body, it enables balance to exist between the mind, body, and soul. When looking at the geometric symbol, she says the image is seen to contain the seven chakras aligned in the middle. 

"The reason that we typically link a lotus with a chakra—with different chakras shown with different numbers of petals—is that chakras are energetic. Based on nerve plexuses, they each spin at a different rate. Each chakra manages a specific bandwidth of energy, measured by color or sound," she says. 

As such, we can work with these sacred patterns to boost our energetic health. Because the flower of life is the visual connection between all living things, it's said to have many benefits. And to reap those benefits, some recommend meditating on the image or wearing the symbol as jewelry to raise your vibration or even as a form of protection. 

The flower of life in sacred geometry.

"Sacred geometry is the underlying form or geometry in nature—and not only the environment on Earth but in the cosmos," Dale explains to mindbodygreen, elaborating that the flower of life is considered sacred because these formations are considered one of the most significant patterns in the universe. 

If you peer closer at the flower of life, inside you'll see many sacred forms nestled within. Dale notes the structure includes the tree of life systems, a universal code known as the Fibonacci sequence, the Golden Ratio of Phi (a mathematical radio that shows up constantly in nature), and Megatron's cube—which carries the five platonic solids, or foundational shapes of all organic life. 

"It is thought that the flower of life holds a secret within it—a circle, which in many cultures, is considered the 'zero point' or the 'origin' of us all," Dale says. "This is the Oneness that ties us together."

What makes the flower of life so meaningful is how it potentially supports emerging scientific theories today. "Recent offshoots of quantum and 'spiritual' physics are suggesting that the universe is conscious, sort of a quantum information field with awareness and that all the energy or data that have ever existed is stored in geometric forms within it," she continues. "We are composed of these same forms and can exchange data with the universe because of it."

How to use the flower of life.

The flower of life is a reminder of unity. To add more connection to your life, Foster suggests drawing the flower of life since the art can be activating for meditation and processing. It also acts as an invitation to resonate at its frequency on a deep cellular level.

"The flower of life is a key ally in raising and protecting the energetic quality that you and your environment are operating at," Foster says. 

To mobilize its creative energy, Foster also advises placing the flower of life in your space or onto objects. "This means to come into coherence and to move out of dissonance. [It] brings the surrounding area or object into greater coherence, for example, to restructure water, or to help negate some of the negative dissonances of a laptop," she adds.

[leggerefiore]

cw: fluff, ingo having spring allergies, pla ingo at the end

pairing: Ingo/Reader

------

It was a bit sad to see him in such a condition, admittedly. Normally, he stood so tall and proud with a certain air of authority in his domain. That domain being public transit management, but he enjoyed it over all. You were almost tempted to press a hand to his forehead and check for a fever, but you resisted. He sat at his desk with many papers lined before him, having been banished from train work by Emmet until his condition improved. Another sniffle came from him, followed by a sneeze, and then a tissue being needed.

The antihistamines have seemed to do little for him. It was impossible to save him from this, alas. Unova had begun its shift from a frigid, icy winter into a blossoming and warm spring. All the greenery and flowers coming to life were gorgeous, yes, but the pollen they brought with their life led to poor Ingo falling into allergies. His watery eyes and scratchy voice made him more off-putting than his frown and stiff body language normally did. You sighed at the state of your poor boyfriend.

“You want to try eating something spicy, Ingo?” you asked, remembering a friend claimed eating a raw, hot pepper temporarily cleared their symptoms, “I'll make it for dinner.” You had come to visit him on his lunch, as he was spending it alone due to Emmet managing all the train work himself. Ingo gazed at you with desperate eyes.

“… I would love to try anything at this point,” he begged, “I had a Depot Agent peer in here when I made an announcement because he did not think it was me…” You hated how much you wanted to laugh at that. His voice did sound off, you would give the employee that. You walked over to him and cupped his face. There were more fun ways that you would prefer his body to be stressed out. Rubbing your thumbs against his temples, you observed the irritation under his nose and the redness of his eyes.

“You want to take off early? Emmet wouldn't mind,” you asked him. The younger twin had already tried to send the older one back home, but he resisted him and insisted there was still some work he could do. Not to mention how much he just wanted to battle today. He leaned into your touch, clearly enjoying the light massage you offered him.

“I can't…” he argued lightly, “I hate to leave him alone here.”

“You can,” you corrected him, “Emmet can see how bad your health is right now and is more worried about you than himself.” Ingo sighed. His hands came over yours to lightly push them away as he pulled out his radio and called into Emmet's frequency. The twin easily agreed to Ingo's leaving and ordered him to bed rest. Ingo looked mortified by Emmet's reaction. You gave a light laugh. He quickly finished up his activities and headed out with you.

~

The Warden sniffled with annoyance as he downed the tea Calaba claimed should help him. You sighed as the memories of your time in Unova with all the allergies' medicine you could only dream of feeling so far away. Ingo sneezed into his handkerchief as he laid back down on his futon. You tried to finish the spicy stew he had liked back home in hopes of giving him some relief from his seasonal curse. Pouring some into a bowl, you came to sit beside him as he ate it.

“… In our time, even with all the medicine we have, you still didn't always get over your allergies,” you told him as you leaned onto his shoulder, “I hate to admit it, but I enjoyed doting on you during those times.”

“Thank you,” Ingo spoke with his scratchy voice, “… How did I meet someone like you?” You giggled.

“Ah, all there's a story to distract you from your sinus pressure,” you grinned at him, “Want to know about how we met originally?”

The light smile he gave you warmed your heart.

[lemonadecandy103]

I find the way Akane inherited passive smoking from Kougami extremely comforting.At first I didn’t know it was because of Kougami.Then I listened to the radio drama Smoldering Traces.The perpetrator of the case,Toshio Murakami happened to smoke the same brand Kougami did.As soon as she smelled it on Murakami,Kougami appeared in her hallucination and told her she got this and she’s a great detective.That’s how she found the specific brand Kougami smoked.Before this case she couldn’t find the brand.After this case she started lighting them up.She goes on to mention how as soon as she lit the cigarette all her feelings of unease melted away.She even thanked Kougami for being there for her in her difficult times😭In their few months time together he made her feel safe and protected in a way no one ever had.Not to mention the validation and conviction.Obviously people will be on my ass for you know glorifying passive smoking but how can I not romanticise this when his smell was more comforting to her than any physical presence in her life?😫

Hi! I believe the second-hand smoke is such a tender way of showing Akane's draw to Kougami (in a similar way to how Kougami talks about Akane having the ability to draw amazing detectives to her), especially during the time that he was away. I wouldn't consider this as glorifying passive smoking. You're not encouraging anyone to take it up or misinforming people about the health risks, so I wouldn't worry about that.

I also want to note how comforting Kougami's smell is to Akane. There's a scene in the 1st movie where Akane's following Kougami through the temple and the smoke from his cigarette travels to Akane's face and she's just kinda unfazed and taking it in. It's especially interesting when you contrast this to a scene in SS Case 3 where Frederica approaches Kougami while he's smoking and fans away the smoke, bothered by the smell.

And I know we never got the scene of how he offered his bed to her, but I guarantee his smell and his residual cigarette smell were on those sheets and I would definitely pay extra to canonically know what was going through Akane's mind in that moment. Homegirl quite literally summoned his ass with those cigarettes back in Season 2 so it's very hard to overlook how important Kougami is to her and her growth as a character.

I hope they bring the second-hand smoke connection back up in later installments whether it's through Tomoyo (Kougami's mom) smelling it on Akane, or Kougami bringing up how she had a pack of the cigarettes on her, or (if we are alive long enough to be blessed with it) a post-coital cigarette smoking Kougami while Akane's there in bed and just being embraced by it.

[sweetlullabyebye]

gotham incorrect quotes using this generator (part 6)

Ed: Oh, here’s my award for the most rules broken!

Lee: That’s not an award, it’s an angry letter from our boss.

Ed, hanging it on their wall: Well, it has the word ‘most’ in it, so I’m calling it an award!

-

Oswald: I hate to disagree with you, but-

Barbara: Please, you love to disagree with me. Its your favorite thing to do.

-

Harvey: When I first met you, I did not like you.

Ed: I'm aware of that.

Harvey: But then you and I had some time together.

Ed: Uh-huh?

Harvey: It did not get better.

-

Oswald: I've met a lot of pricks in my time, but you, Jim, are a fucking cactus.

-

Lucius: I didn’t even realize how sarcastic I was being. It’s starting to become a problem, I think.

-

Ed: If you ever feel stupid or weak or powerless, just remember that I am not. I am out there, very dangerous, and I am looking for you. Good luck.

-

Alfred: But seriously, what is the real plan here that has to do with not fucking around?

Harvey: There is no plan that does not involve fucking around. But we will make sure all of our fucking around will be applied in a constructive direction.

-

Ed: When do I get my own gun?

Harvey: I wouldn’t trust you with my kid’s lightsaber.

-

Ed, over radio: Testing. Testing. Oswald, can you hear me?

Oswald, standing next to Ed: I’m standing right here.

Ed: You’re coming through good and loud.

Oswald: Because I’m standing right here.

-

Jim, on the phone: Where are you?

Harvey: I told you, I’m at work!

Jim: Swear you’re not at Chuck E Cheese again?

*skee ball machine alarm goes off in the background*

-

Harvey: I wouldn’t put it in those words exactly.

Lucius: Why not?

Harvey: Because I don't know what they mean.

-

Ed: Do you know a turtle's only weakness?

Oswald: No... well, their slowness.

Ed: Their weaknesss is they can't roll over when they are on their backs.

Ed: Now I have a plan.

Ed: If I duct tape two turtles together, they'll be unstoppable.

-

Lee, teaching Barbara to drive: Okay, you're driving and Tabitha and Butch walk into the road. Quick, what do you hit?

Barbara: Oh, definitely Butch. I could never hurt Tabitha.

Lee, massaging her temples: The brakes. You hit the brakes.

-

Lucius: "You look tired" well, the torment is relentless and the horrors never cease.

-

Oswald: Here is my wall of inspirational people.

Ed: Is that a picture of you?

Oswald: Yes, I am big enough to admit that I am often inspired by myself.

-

Jim: Barbara...

Barbara: I can tell by the tone of your voice that you are disappointed. However, I must further disappoint you by affirming how little I give a fuck.

-

Bruce: Hey.

Selina: Hey?

Bruce: I can't sleep. :/

Selina: I can. Goodnight.

-

Lee: You’re alive.

Barbara: No need to sound so disappointed.

-

Lucius: Did it hurt when you fell-

Ed: From heaven? Foxy, I didn’t think you were such a flirt-

Lucius: No, I meant when you fell down the stairs.

Ed: ...

Lucius: You just laid there for 15 minutes.

-

Jim: When I die I want everyone in the GCPD to lower me into my grave so they can let me down one last time.

-

Lee: Bottling up negative emotions is bad for your health, so you shouldn't do it.

Jim: I know, that's why I bottle up all my emotions, both positive and negative, so it cancels out.

Lee: That's not how that works-

-

Harvey: We’ll get back into there or die trying.

Lucius: No one’s dying.

Harvey: Not with that attitude.

Part 5

[januaryembrs]

PAST LIVES | Kylo Ren x Ex-Jedi!Reader

Request: For the drabble idea :3c Kylo Ren x Reader were lovers at the Jedi Academy. After The Incident reader believed he had been killed, reader ran away from Luke/the resistance and never knew he became Kylo. Their paths cross again, and he recognizes the reader, but reader does not recognize him until he reveals his face.

description: lost love is sweeter when it's finally found. I've got the strangest feeling, this isn't our first time around

Word Count: 1.5k

Trigger warnings: children nearly dying, choking (violently), gun shots, saber fight, kylo ren

main masterlist

Life had been peaceful for the last five years. Peace and quiet ofcourse came as a package deal with living a life of near solitude on a remote planet, with a tiny community being the only people you spoke to. They knew you as the mysterious stranger that had practically crash landed in their crop field the first day you arrived, but they were kind enough to nurse you back to health and stitch up the scorch mark that now marred your face.

They didn’t ask many questions of where you came from, just reassurance that whatever it was that had done that to you wasn’t wishing the same fate for them, which you swore it wouldn’t. You had surely gone far enough that they couldn’t find you, though the guilt of leaving Luke and the other Jedi at the temple to face Ben’s wrath alone had weighed heavier on your heart than any saber cut or burn ever could. 

You had fled the second you’d seen his eyes; what were once calm waters had looked at you with the fury of a mad man. That was not your Ben. Never your Ben. 

Luke had practically shoved you into a discarded solo jet to get to safety, leaving you no choice but to abandon the only family you had ever known. You were too much of a coward to go back all these years later to see the aftermath of that wretched day.

Life on Sorgen was happy enough. There was only so much excitement to be garnered from Krill farming and you much preferred the livelihood of the trading docks than tending to the tiny, blue creatures in the pools surrounding the village. But you always remained aware, sceptical. Always kept an eye over your shoulder for any first order spies wishing to bring a stop to your slice of peace. 

It was a nice enough life, but it was never the one you’d had planned. You had been destined for greatness once, and greatness never came from krill farming or wasting your days with your tail between your legs. You had wanted a life with him. Oh, Him. 

You spent your day as you did most week beginnings by searching through the newest shipments being brought into the market place from the inner rim planets, mostly smuggled junk that could provide useful for the people in your village. You handed a few credits to the tender, pocketing a new blaster for the woman you neighboured who had complained she was beginning to feel uneasy with the conflict being brought to the outer rim planets between the first order and the resistance. 

Just last week had seen a stand off in the same market place you were now stood in. A merchant accused of housing resistance spies and smuggling them radios to contact home base. But you kept your nose well out of it, knowing you were more valuable to the first order than any damn radio. 

You were picking over a round of blaster bolts when they came. 

Tens of in-sync footsteps met your ears, trunching in unison through the dirt streets, the sound getting closer. 

Then the screaming started.

Your head shot up as blaster fire began ricocheting off the walls further down the small town. A small group of villagers emerged around the corner that the chaos had originated, some holding children tightly to their chests, others making a break for it alone. It was then clear to you the source of the violence.

A troop of first order soldiers rounded the corner, their blasters drawn and loaded, shooting at anyone getting too close to their squadron. The ones at the front began flipping over market stands, rummaging through crates, kicking down doors to canteens and, by the sounds of it, eliminating every possible target inside the buildings too. 

“Where is the resistance spy?” One of them roared through his vocoder at a bystander. She shook her head in freight and hesitance. You felt your chest constrict with something dark when he raised his blaster and shot through her chest mercilessly. 

It was then that your mouth dropped open. There was nothing stopping the first order once they had a lead to follow, you’d heard of entire planets being destroyed for such an offence as harbouring resistance.

You wanted to flee, like you had all those years ago. Turn tail and run far away from any sign of the people that eradicated your family, ruined your life. That took him from you. 

Your feet spun on your heels, ready to make a break for the treeline to hopefully avoid them, when you saw him.

He was dressed head to toe in black, like an omen of death, wearing a mask reminiscent of the one they called Vader. The red saber in his hand only confirmed the worst of your fears, that this figure was not someone to be meddled with, that they must be powerful in the force to be granted the weapon of the Sith. 

The reaper-like figure reached out a single hand, and without much effort lifted two children into the air and cutting off their airways. The young boys choked loudly, grasping desperately at their necks to try and pry the invisible hand away from them as the figure yelled at their mother, demanding information. 

You felt the littlest boy slipping away, felt his life force dimming as his skin began turning purple. No, You thought desperately, your fingers twitching to grab your own saber stashed in your pocket, Please no.

Ren was about to deliver the final blow, his fingers tightening and ready to snap their necks if their hysterical mother didn’t give him the answers he wanted. What he wasn’t prepared for was the recognizable sound of another lightsaber being ignited through the crowd.

His own head whipped to the source, seeing his troops begin shooting at one single target in unison. A few dropped to the ground limp as the shots were deflected back at them, but what really made his mind tick was how four troopers were flung through a stone wall with a small flick of your hand.

An experienced force user, it seemed. 

He shoved his way through his squadron, cutting down his own men who did not move out of his way fast enough. He seemed to have caught a rat in his trap, maybe they even knew where the resistance was. 

The ultramarine hue of the saber reflected off his men’s helmets, and he drew his own weapon in front of him in preparation. 

You dodged every shot they gave you, swinging your saber naturally between your fingers as if the whole thing was a dance. You moved smoother than water, your footwork delicate yet precise as you cut down the troopers and gave the young boys the respite they needed to escape. 

It wasn’t until you felt the darkness in him that the chill ran up your spine, making you whip your head to his figure, just in time to shield yourself from the ignited saber swinging down at you.

Your weapons crackled with pure energy as they met, a dreadful crash of thunder reverberating through the market as the two of you pushed against one another. 

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, murderer,”  You hissed, using your free hand to flick the blaster shots away from your vulnerable side.

Kylo Ren froze. It wasn’t until you kicked him square in the stomach and sent him stumbling back he caught a look of your face, one he could never forget even if he tried. 

The scar had healed badly, cutting through the entirety of your left cheek and barely missing your eye. Your eyes, your beautiful eyes he loved, he’d once cherished, that looked at him as if he hung every star in every world in every galaxy, that frowned at him with such disdain and hatred now. 

You. Oh maker it was you.

You advanced on him again, swinging with an anger he had missed, though he’d admit you caught him in his astonishment and he narrowly avoided being cut through himself. 

And so it went; you attacking, him merely defending, as you also used your good hand to defend yourself from his troopers. He wanted to scream at them to stop fighting you, to leave you alone, but Snoke would have his head for being so merciful to an enemy.

“Fight me!” You yelled, swinging harder, moving faster. “You cut down innocent children just fine, but a worthy opponent joins and you waver,”

“Stop,” He pleaded, his chest tight with indifference as to what to do. The fury was clear on your face, curling it up into a grimace that made you a snarling animal. 

“Fight me,” Your voice ordered, though he could tell you were tiring of the chase. 

He saw his chance when your right side was unguarded and he was able to hook the back of your leg and throw you to the floor. 

In the time it had taken for you to jump back to your feet, his hands came up to his helmet, ripping the mask off his defeated face. 

The growl slid off your visage immediately. It was Ben. Your Ben. Your Ben, who you had left amongst the massacre five years ago, who you loved with every fibre of your being, who you were supposed to marry someday, that's what he told you. 

“Ben,” You whispered. He felt the air whoosh out of him, what was he supposed to say to you. You would be so disappointed in the darkness he had followed, the path he had chosen. 

The two of you were so occupied with staring at your past lives that it was no wonder you heard the blaster shot until it was too late, and the heat of the charge cut through your stomach with no remorse, and you fell to your knees.

[quietwings-fics]

step one achieved, step two failed, initiating step three: then comes the baby in the baby carriage

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Sabrifer Additional Tags: Mpreg, Trans Male Sam Winchester, Trans Lucifer (Supernatural), Trans Gabriel (Supernatural), that's right. t4t4t mpreg. how do you like me now., Implied/Referenced Sex, Fix-It of Sorts, Comedy, Morning After, Established Relationship, Polyamory, Pregnant Lucifer (Supernatural), Not an official tag yet. But if I have my way? It will be., Unplanned Pregnancy Wordcount: 2053 Summary:

Sam Winchester keeps managing to do impossible things.

Of all the ways Sam thought they would stop the Apocalypse, a threesome with the devil and his trickster(-pagan-angel-whatever label Gabriel wanted these days) brother wasn’t high on the list. Not on the list at all, which was a feat, considering it had been a short list consisting of “Kill Lucifer (somehow)” and “Kill Michael (somehow.)”

It had taken a fatal stabbing. Sam could have done without that part. He’s full up on people sacrificing themselves for him, and he didn’t need Gabriel adding himself to the pile. Dean might have asked for that, (and nowadays, the memory of that sacrifice was what pulled Dean onto the side of accepting Sam’s new... partners) but Sam didn’t. He hadn’t even liked Gabriel that much back then, but he preferred him as a potential ally and thorn in their side than as a dead man.

Said fatal stabbing, and two weeks of radio silence on Lucifer’s end of the Apocalypse, and then one extremely distraught and half out of his mind from grief archangel invading Sam’s dreams to ask him for help in undoing what he had done. If Lucifer had seemed efficient in directing the end of the world, then that was nothing compared to trying to resurrect his brother. He brought Sam everything he asked for, every book and spell ingredient and even offered his own grace to bring Gabriel back. Sam could have taken advantage of him. He didn’t. At the time, he didn’t know if that was the right choice.

Now, squished between two archangels on a bed that was definitely big enough to give them space to spread out, he knew it had been.

It hadn’t been easy. Not the resurrection or what came after, nursing Gabriel back to health on Sam’s part or earning his forgiveness on Lucifer’s. There was still a lot more to do to keep the world intact. Gabriel seemed confident that convincing Raphael to their side was the right way to go, that three archangels against Michael might make their brother think twice about what he was doing, especially with Lucifer less and less inclined towards destroying everything with each passing day.

(Dean was not right when he joked that Lucifer getting laid was the secret to saving the world.

But he wasn’t exactly wrong, either.)

Gabriel snorts in his sleep and kicks lightly, disturbing the covers. Lucifer curls closer into Sam, hand sleepily stroking Gabriel’s waist where he laid on Sam’s other side. Neither of them need sleep, but Gabriel had developed the habit a long time ago and Lucifer was curious enough to give it a try. Sam reaps the benefits by being the nexus of their cuddle pile every night they join him in bed, Gabriel on his left radiating heat and Lucifer stealing it all on his right.

Sam’s got lazy morning arousal curling in his gut, teased out by the way Lucifer’s squirming against him to steal even more of Sam’s warmth. His leg slides innocuously between Sam’s thighs, but there’s enough sense memory there that Sam shivers and turns his head to press a kiss to Lucifer’s temple. They’d done that at some point last night, rutted against each other until they both came. He could remember the way Lucifer tensed up as it happened, still caught off-guard by his own orgasms, and that expression being what tipped Sam over the edge as well. He could remember Gabriel pushing them apart afterwards and licking the mess clean (though, really, only making it worse.) Lucifer twitching and gasping from overstimulation as Gabriel licked over his folds was a sight Sam was never going to forget.

Lucifer is waking up. He grumbles unhappily against Sam’s shoulder at this turn of affairs. When Sam runs his fingers through his hair, that seems to ease him a little, turning the grumble into a pleased sigh. “Good morning,” Sam greets.

“If you say so.” Lucifer doesn’t open his eyes, like the longer he can pretend he’s still sleeping, the longer he can convince Sam to stay in bed with him. Sam’s starting to be convinced that pride isn’t actually his greatest sin at all, but sloth. 

It’s hardly a sin if it’s cute, though, and Lucifer, grouchy and half-asleep, was definitely cute. Sam won’t dare say that out loud (or think it too hard, because he’s still not clear on how much of his thoughts the archangels can pick up on.)

”Feeling a little left out over here,” Gabriel says, and for good measure, he nips at Sam’s shoulder blade. That’s what Sam gets for turning his back on a trickster. He rolls over. 

For about ten seconds, Sam gets to enjoy Lucifer snuggling into one side and Gabriel sitting up on the other one, smiling down at him. 

And then Gabriel’s face falls so fast, Sam’s fight or flight kicks in. Gabriel’s head jerks towards Lucifer and he all but hisses out, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Lucifer doesn’t react. Sam’s not sure he knows Gabriel was speaking to him. 

“Um,” Sam begins.

“You’re older!” Gabriel snaps, which is when Lucifer finally opens his eyes and squints up at him. “How am I more careful than you?”

”What are you talking about?” Lucifer asks. He yawns.

”I’d also like to know,” Sam adds. He doesn’t often get treated like a third wheel, but the few times he has been, it’s been just like this, confusing and full of accusations he doesn’t understand but does get are meant to hurt more than prove any real point. He’d at least like to know what set Gabriel off.

”You’re pregnant,” Gabriel says.

Sam's brain refuses to process that.

"What?" he says, more to drown out the buzzing shock that's taken up residence in his head than ask an actual question. It gets ignored either way.

"At least you've got the decency to carry it yourself and not make some poor human"—Sam's brain comes online long enough to register that he's the poor human in that description, but it shuts down again before he can come up with a comeback—"deal with it, but... Don't you know how to use protection?" Sam looks over at Lucifer, hoping that he's going to reveal that this is all some elaborate prank. If it is, Sam will cheer because it means Gabriel and Lucifer are close enough to gang up on him. Instead, Lucifer looks like he's also shut down.

"We don't use condoms," he says, like he's unsure if that's the answer Gabriel wants. Gabriel should already know that, since he's the only one whose vessel sometimes has a dick to put them on.

"I'm talking about a higher power interfering. Your grace's built-in antivirus for nephilim. Should have kept your angel eggs from being fertilized, if you were paying any attention at all."

"You lay eggs?" Sam's voice sounds precariously high-pitched. Gabriel looks at him like he's an idiot.

"The state of sex-ed in America... No, we don't lay eggs, Sam. You knocked Lucifer up. With a baby. Live birth. You're a mammal; you've got personal experience."

"That's not possible."

"You fucked him, didn't you?"

"My dick is made of plastic!" The offending object in question is probably strewn on the floor somewhere.

"And even your strap game isn't that good." Gabriel drawls. He still sounds annoyed, but his voice is lowering again. "It doesn't matter. You had sex. Sex makes babies." He turns his gaze back on Lucifer. "The problem is that it shouldn't have happened. He knows how to prevent it."

"Gabriel," Lucifer says, very quietly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Instinctively, Sam reaches for him. Lucifer sounds shaken, and Sam can count the times he's heard that note in his voice on one hand, most of them occurring right after Gabriel's temporary death. On his other side, when Sam turns his head to check, Gabriel's stopped scowling in frustration at Lucifer. He looks confused now, his eyes darting over his brother.

"We can get humans pregnant. And you're aware of that, right?" Lucifer doesn't answer. "Right?" Lucifer still doesn't answer. Gabriel exhales in one quick puff. "And particularly stubborn ones can get us pregnant."

"But he doesn't have the parts for that," Sam interrupts.

"Nick had a child,” Lucifer says as he sits up. The sheets slide off him. Sam looks down at the scar he'd assumed was from a hysterectomy. He hadn't even considered that it could be from a c-section instead.

"And even if he didn't, his grace would make it work," Gabriel finishes.

"How-"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, Sam." Sam has enough self-preservation instincts to shut his mouth but not to keep it shut for very long.

”How do you know about this?”

“Experience.” 

"You had a kid?"

"I've had a few kids," Gabriel says, bluntly, in the way that means, I don't want to talk about it, and if you push me, I will make your life a living hell of ten thousand tiny annoyances. You will get shocked every time you take your clothes out of the dryer for the rest of time, and you’ll always know it was because of this.

So, Sam turns back to Lucifer. The facts of this are beginning to settle in. Lucifer. Pregnancy. Lucifer, pregnant, with Sam’s kid. Human kid? Angel kid? Something in between? 

Lucifer doesn’t look very good. 

“Hey,” Sam says, trying to keep his own voice as soothing as he can. He rests a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. The muscle underneath his fingers is stiff as steel, and absently, Sam works his thumb against Lucifer’s back. “You aren’t trapped like this. We can figure out a way to stop it, and we’ll be more careful next time to keep it from happening again.” Lucifer turns to look at him, confused.

”What?” 

“I could do it,” Gabriel offers. “I have before. Announced a few pregnancies, terminated others, all in a day’s work.” 

If Sam had to describe the expression on Lucifer’s face… he might call it heartbroken. 

“You don’t want a child with me,” he says, and it’s not a question but a statement of fact, so sure of his own grasp of the situation, and as ever with Lucifer, so completely wrong about what’s actually causing strife between the three of them.

Sam’s never considered having a kid before. With Jess, he’d briefly tossed around the idea of adopting, far in the future, but having his own? Now? With Lucifer and Gabriel? It had to be one of his most batshit ideas, but at the same time… Who else would any of child of his be safer with? 

And it’s watching Lucifer that convinces him. Lucifer hasn’t had the chance to be anything to the world but death and destruction in so long, and here he is with life blooming inside him. 

“Of course we-“ Sam pauses. His mind is made up, but he won’t speak for Gabriel, not without knowing he’s behind this all the way. This is a far bigger commitment than occasional threesomes. 

Sam’s not sure if he loves Gabriel the way he loves Lucifer (and he knows he doesn’t love him the way Lucifer does, but it’s a little unfair to compare his feelings to the intense devotion of an archangel), but he could. More importantly, would he trust him with his child?

He’s not that surprised the answer is yes.

Unreadable emotions flicker fast behind Gabriel’s eyes, and then, finally, he nods. 

“We do,” he says. He crawls over Sam and into Lucifer’s lap to kiss the shock away. “Don’t make that face. You’re the one babytrapping us.” 

“It wasn’t intentional,” Lucifer protests, and Gabriel steals another kiss to shut him up. 

They’re actually going to do this, Sam realizes. Something giddy bubbles up in his chest. He got Lucifer pregnant, and that thought isn’t laced with panic or disbelief but euphoric glee. 

“Now you’re both making stupid faces,” Gabriel says, and Sam can’t make himself stop grinning. He placates Gabriel by hiding his face in the crook of Lucifer’s neck, pressing kisses up to his jaw. Lucifer leans into him, his arms wrapped around Gabriel, content between them.

Sam’s content, too, right up until he remembers that he’s going to have to explain himself to Dean.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[aomori-division]

Ruka's thoughts on Ueno division

Aranai's Norikoru

"one of my many rockstars! Aranai san is a habitual listener of my radio channel "Reverse". And she often requested songs that I of course play happily! I admire Aranai san and all the riot she caused, is a truly rock and roll 🎶"

Shisuta Heisha

"ooh,a nun? I never thought see a catholic nun in japan. Especially in aomori where got places like aosore mount,temples and to much miko and itako mediums. But apparently there's a catholic church in ueno and i'm always interested in learn about more religions"-then Ruka suddenly stay in silence

"A nun? C'mon darling there's a lot of religions better in all this country like that artist from kumamoto or the niigata's pretty boy but not a nun,she works for the oldman!"

"c'mon babe. she seems like a lovable lady"

"*grrrr* okay,you win darling"

Kisouna Yuzairu

"a attorney? Then she is something like a police or that laywer in nagoya? I'm personally feel grateful with Yuzairu san for a reason that only me and dad know,Hisui don't"-Ruka look serious and then she spoke

"one or year ago when Sui nii started to take meds due to his health problems we noticed that every time he took them he fell 'ill worse than so we research and found out that the companny that made the medicine was commiting negligence and was giving meds that actually made the patients's healt goes worse and even provoked overdosed for bad prescriptions. So after Hisui almost suffered one we demand them and requested Yuzairu san's help, we winned the case and stop of buy meds from them, i'm eternally grateful with Yuzairu san for that"

Sakurai clan

"...i don't have exactly a bad opinion about this team,I appreciate Aranai san as one of my rockstars, i don't have nothing againts Heisha san and i'm grateful with Yuzairu san besides... i'm here to cure my brother and...this team is not the team I want fight. My goal are certain insane ones more... Diabolik"-

[magicoldcottage]

Did you Know that Sound can Heal?

Have you ever wondered why some music sounds more soothing and uplifting than others?

Have you ever walked into a spiritual shop and felt a deep connection with the music that you haven't felt with songs on the radio?

If so, you might have been exposed to the healing frequency of 432 Hz, a sound that resonates with the harmonic intonation of nature and the human heart.

If you are interested in learning how music can heal you and why the healing power of music was denied to us, keep reading.

What is 432 Hz

432 Hz is a frequency of sound that is said to have a healing effect on the human body and mind. It is the harmonic intonation of nature and resonates with our cells, atoms, DNA, and heartbeat. It vibrates in the heart chakra and expands our capacity for love and compassion.

432 Hz is rooted in musical history, geometry, science, and architecture and has been found in various ancient sites. For example, the Pyramids of Giza, Stonehenge, and the Temple of Delphi were all built using the 432 Hz ratio. The ancient Greeks also used this frequency to tune their instruments and create sacred music. Pythagoras, the famous mathematician and philosopher, believed that frequencies had a healing effect on the body and that daily exposure to music was beneficial for human health.

Sadly

What are the benefits of listening to 432 Hz music?

Listening to 432 Hz music can have a profound impact on your physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. Some of the benefits include:

Lowering your heart rate and blood pressure: Studies have concluded that listening to music at 432 Hz can decrease your heart rate and blood pressure significantly in comparison to 440 Hz, which is the standard tuning for most modern music. This can help you relax and reduce stress levels.

Increasing your happiness and self-esteem: Listening to 432 Hz music can also improve your mood, happiness, self-esteem, self-confidence and release emotional blockages. It can help you feel more joyful and relaxed, as well as more connected to yourself and others.

Improving your sleep quality: Listening to 432 Hz music can improve your quality of sleep and help you stay asleep longer. Sleep is vital for a healthy lifestyle, and studies have found that adults with delayed sleep latency can benefit immensely from listening to this frequency before bed or during afternoon naps.

Aligning you with the frequency of nature: 432 Hz resonates with the Schumann Resonance of 8 Hz which is the vibration of the earth. It causes listeners to feel better and more connected with nature. It attunes our brains to the frequency of the earth. This can help us harmonize with the natural rhythms of life and enhance our intuition.

Clearing energetic blockages: The frequency of 432 Hz can also help us clear energetic blockages in our body and mind. These blockages can manifest as physical pain, emotional trauma, mental fog, or spiritual disconnection. By listening to this frequency, we can release these blockages and allow our energy to flow freely.

Enhancing your creativity and imagination: Listening to 432 Hz music can also stimulate your creativity and imagination. It can help you access higher states of consciousness and inspiration. It can also help you express yourself more authentically and artistically.

Restoring your memory and brain function: Listening to 432 Hz music can also improve your memory and brain function. It can help you recall information better and process information faster. It can also help you heal from neurological disorders such as Alzheimer’s or stroke3.

So will any music help me?

Sadly no, America in 1926 drifted away from this frequency and adopted 440 Hz (A above middle C for anyone musical). With their support, an international agreement in 1953 converted the world to a new frequency and the healing properties of music were lost. I'm not into conspiracies but some have suggested the FDA formed in 1930 would have been keen for people to be less healthy.

How to listen to 432 Hz music?

There are many ways to listen to 432 Hz music. You can find online platforms that offer free or paid streaming services for this frequency. You can also download apps or software that allow you to convert any music file into 432 Hz. You can also buy CDs or vinyl records that are recorded at this frequency.

Some tips for listening to 432 Hz music are:

Use headphones or speakers that have good sound quality

Listen in a quiet and comfortable environment

Set an intention before listening

Breathe deeply and relax your body

Focus on the sound and how it makes you feel

Listen for at least 15 minutes a day

Conclusion

Listening to 432 Hz music is a simple yet powerful way to heal yourself on all levels. It can help you align with the frequency of nature and the universe, as well as enhance your physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. By tuning into this frequency, you can experience more peace, joy, love, and harmony in your life. I personally love to listen to it through headphones while walking in nature to increase my connection.

If you are interested in learning more about the healing power of sound frequencies, you can check out these resources:

The 432Hz Universal Healing Frequency • Musical Hypnosis

Healing Frequencies of the Human Body: Full List and Benefits

7 Benefits of listening to 432 Hz music - Sound Healers

For more ideas why not click here for my masterpost.

If you liked this post don't forget to like and follow to keep up with my posts. I only post new content.

To help me create more posts like this please consider subscribing to my Patreon

patreon.com/MagicOldCottage

[chaletnz]

Amazon: Ayahuasca Ceremony

I made my way up the hill to the temple around 8.30 for my spiritual awakening. Maestro Alfredo was there waiting for me, and Rodrigo and Segundo (a guy who worked in the kitchen) were both also there. The American couple had backed out at the last moment so it would just be three of us drinking under Maestro Alfredo’s guidance. He introduced himself and told us how he had drank his first ayahuasca at 15 years old with his uncle who taught him all the shamanic practices - he is now 70 years old and has drunk ayahuasca thousands of times. Maestro Alfredo told me to trust him and our ceremony began as a torrential downpour of rain started. First he gave me a few drops of some “Amazon perfume” and I was instructed to rub it over myself. Then the cup of ayahuasca was poured. I took a whiff as I held the small wooden cup, it didn’t smell good but certainly not too bad. I was instructed to introduce myself to the ayahuasca and then drink the full cup in one go. It tasted a lot worse than it smelled so I had to do it in two sips rather than one. I sat back down, then Rodrigo and Segundo took their dose. By this time it was 9pm and the generator was turned off to throw us all into complete darkness. All there was to do now was wait, cradling my sick bucket until the aya kicked in.

The first thing I noticed was that my sense of sound was far heightened. It could’ve been the darkness or the aya, I’m not sure, but I could hear the rain as well as every other sound of the jungle like croaking frogs. I had a loud ringing in my right ear which sounded like a chainsaw - it couldn’t be, so I figured  it must be a boat. In hindsight though, it was raining so heavily and the nearest boat with an engine would have to be about a mile or two away, it was probably my imagination. I was able to slow down the individual sounds and isolate them to listen in more carefully and that’s when I really felt like I was on drugs. The shaman regularly performed songs with his “instrument”, a flax brush, and singing to Ayahuasca to give us her energy. I tried to see some visions asking Aya internally for a glimpse of my future if she would be so kind to show me. In the pitch blackness I started to see coloured outlines drawing themselves, a spark of blue and then an outline of a cat - throughout the night I saw some greens and pinks too drawing random shapes but the cats were recurring, big jungle cat faces like a jaguar, or puma. Most of the visions were hard to make out, a lot of human and animal eyes, I did make out my mum’s face at one point, as well as something else that looked like a cartoon Pokémon but there was nothing super distinct other than the multiple cats. In my head there was some shouting back and forth which sounded like a domestic argument and was kind of scary although I couldn't make out the words. I felt my stomach churning as time passed and eventually I threw up about three times which burned my throat a lot. I started to hear snippets of music in my head, they sounded like songs I’d listen to but not so familiar that I knew them. It seemed like someone had a radio on but I think it was my imagination because I wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the rain if there was one. Maestro Alfredo told me to focus on the messages in my head rather than the images, as I’d said they were weak and hard to see when he asked me what I saw/heard/felt. I thought about my mum, she is the most important. I also had thoughts about my brain not being able to trip “properly” maybe something is wired wrong or different or possibly I have a health issue? About an hour in I realised it was easier to see the visions with my eyes open just staring into the darkness because I was so tired, my body wanted to sleep but the visions are not dreams so I needed to be conscious. I would see maybe three or four continuous sparks of colour making a line drawing of a shape and then changing to another one but then it would fade out into the black. There was nothing so profound or enlightening that I saw or felt or thought and after an hour and a half it seemed to get weaker still and Maestro was closer than before. He’d sounded very far away compared to the boat/chainsaw and the rain and jungle noises when he’d been performing his songs. He said I probably could’ve taken more but he didn’t recommend it now because I’d be up for hours longer. I was tired and the waves of hot and cold had landed on cold also from the wind and rain - at 11pm I pulled on my hoody but was still cold. Wild as I had been sweating the entire time since I’d landed in Iquitos airport. I wanted to lie down in bed but Segundo and Rodrigo were still tripping hard so I had to wait about another 20 minutes for them to come down enough to be able to walk back. The walk back was tricky, pouring rain and a slippery grass slope to climb over, Rodrigo also had to stop at a tree to throw up a lot. Once I got back to my room I felt almost completely lucid though. I tried to sleep but I was still seeing a few coloured sparks trying to draw outlines, I saw a house with a straw thatched roof on fire and others I couldn’t make out before I finally drifted off feeling restless and weak.

The experience was enjoyable, but I didn't feel the enlightenment I think I was expecting from it. I had requested a lesser dose from the Maestro as I was afraid. I would try ayahuasca again, and I would take a full dose, or even slightly more, now I am not afraid of it.

Myself and the shaman Maestro Alfredo